Down with the Fallen
by Zvezda616
Summary: Asgard was dead. There were no more foundations or dreams, only long lost hopes – echoes from unfulfilled pasts. And she thought she was dead, too. But the all too familiar pain in her veins proved her wrong. And maybe, just maybe, that was her punishment. They always said that villains don't get a happy ending, after all. But, sometimes, Death just gets in the way...
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that may be present in this story, nor do I own any of the locations and other elements that also may be a part of it. They're all property of their respective owners, be it Marvel, be it their illustrators. I do not make, nor do I wish to make, any amount of money with this story. It's written for entertainment purposes only.**

 **Author's Note [AN]: This is a yuri/femslash/lesbian romance, so, if you don't think it's your thing, please, just leave. If you, by any chance, believe it to be morally wrong or any of that stuff, do find yourself some therapy, and maybe upgrade your intelligence just a little - I assure you it won't hurt.**

 **Also, be aware that this story is character driven, and won't have much flashy action like the Avenger's movies love to display...at least not all the time. And, my dears, do read my Trigger Warnings, okay?**

 **Trigger Warnings [TG]: Mentions of child abuse; parental neglect, depression, suicidal thoughts and self-depreciation. Violence, mention of drugs and some explicit descriptions of slightly gory scenes.**

 **I guess that's all for now, my dearies. I'm Zvezda, and I hope you enjoy this story as much as I enjoy writing it.**

 **Good read!**

 **Prologue**

" _ **The price of your greed is your son and your daughter.**_ **"**

 **Grandson - Blood Water**

There was a great fuss in the queen's chambers. Even though it's inhabitants were limited to three, their anxiety alone was enough to impregnate the air with an uneasiness far tremendous than any driven by the bloody battle cry of a warrior.

The event that reunited them all was much brighter than battles and wars could ever dream to be, though. It was the birth of the most expected birth that would be staged inside Asgard's walls. It was the birth of the royal couple's firstborn; a true historical moment for all Asgardians.

The queen and the king had discussed about the birth ceremony's details for long months, but, in the end, it seemed their baby decided it was time to say hi a little earlier, and so everything had to be changed; everything had to be done with utmost speed and the greatest of delicacy, less anything might go wrong, and that was not acceptable.

'T was a dream come true for the queen, though, and no amount of unforeseen circumstances could rip the smile out of her face, much less the pain that spread from every contraction she felt. She was riding the higher of clouds, and she was sure no valkyrie could pull her down.

Oh, there was so much she would need to do! So much she would need to learn! She had no idea how to be a mother, not to mention how to raise an infant child! Would she be able to feed her baby right? What if her milk grew dry? What if her baby slipped from her arms? Oh, what would she do if someone ever hurt her child!?

But, looking at the soft face her husband made as he leaned over her bed, she knew it would be alright. She knew that, with them both there as guides, their firstborn would be cherished, loved and protected like no other son or daughter in all realms could dream to be.

He wore an eyepatch ever since he came back from his last journey. It was a mark that would forever remind her of his ultimate sacrifice. A sacrifice he made for the sake of her one selfish wish: to be a mother, like she always dreamed. It was a sacrifice he made for the both of them, and for the future of Asgard as well.

" _I promise you, Frigga, my love, I'll find a way"_ he had told her so many moons ago, while she cried to sleep in his arms. " _I'll find a way for your dream to come true..._ "

She never doubted his words, but, at the time, she didn't thought that it was possible. Honestly, she still knew not how it could be. But she was so, so happy, that she couldn't bring herself to care. There was no reason to second guess her husband's gift. It was the most sacred and beautiful thing anyone had ever presented her with, and there was no doubt she would cherish the memory until her last breath.

She heard the midwife's voice telling her how to breathe, and, for a moment, she was annoyed that her moment was broken by something so trivial. Did the old lady really thought she didn't knew how to? Or did she believed her not to be strong enough to bear the pain?

Of course it hurt, and of course her breathing wasn't as regular and lady-like as she'd like it to be. But never would such an undesired body reaction overshadow the light her gift was about to shine.

Twelve lifetimes could never prepare her for the torrent of emotions that raced her all at once when she heard it for the first time: her baby's cry. And when she held the bundle of joy in her arms...she'd never be able to describe how she felt.

It was a perfect mixture of innocent joy and utter disbelief. An addicting feeling so strong and at the same so gentle that it could've been but a caress to her heart...Whatever it was, though, she hoped it wouldn't go away.

Her baby was such a beautiful little girl, too! She wanted to hold her forever and never let go! But she was just so cute and soft and tiny, that she couldn't risk it, anyway. She knew Odin wanted their firstborn to be a boy - to father a son. But, somehow, she knew only good things awaited them ahead. She had no doubt that her husband would love their daughter just the same.

So happy was Frigga, that, when she looked at Odin's smile, she never noticed the bloody tear that snaked down from beneath his eyepatch. The midwife had long left the couple alone, and so he was also the only one who noticed the glim of pure joy in their daughter's eyes as they savoured it's path down the floor...

 **DOWN WITH THE FALLEN**


	2. Of Titles and Truths, part I

**Disclaimer: Yet again I shall tell you all Midgardians that I do not own Thor nor any of it's characters or locations. I do not own the Avengers or any other characters and/or locations that may or may not appear in this story that have part in the same universe. They're all Marvel's properties.**

 **But this strange plot idea is all mine, though.**

 **TW: Mentions of child abuse; parental neglect, depression, suicidal thoughts and self-depreciation**

 **AN: This story is a lesbian romance, so, if that's not your thing, maybe it's better if you don't read it, don't you think so?**

 **Oh, and, by the way, do not fear the "OOC" in this chapter. I swear it's in there for a reason, and won't be a full time thing.**

 **I hope you enjoy your read :3**

Arch I: A deal with the Devil

Chapter I: Of titles and Truths, part 1

The first thing she felt was the solid ground beneath her back. It stretched across her frame and spread along her legs like vines and webs. She could feel the gentle tickling of grass against her cheeks, and even a soft breeze sliding through her skin.

That was far from how Hela would expect the afterlife to be. No. It was just too peaceful. Too quiet. Too serene. Too comfortable. It laked all the things she though were given: all the pain, the screams, the chains sliding through her flesh, the constant reminder of how pathetic she was...

If she couldn't remember the outcome of her last battle, she'd deny all thoughts of being dead. But Asgard was destroyed while she was still in it. There was no way she'd ever survive that shameful attack when her power source was gone, broken in million pieces and then completely vanished in front of her very eyes.

It was frustrating how she couldn't even open her eyes and look around. She couldn't move a finger either, and she certainly wasn't able to open her mouth. She could hear, though. She could hear the running waters in the distance, the strange hum that came from afar; even the footsteps approaching nearby.

There was something in the air, though. Something strange and vile. It made her stomach curl and a strange feeling of dread develop deep in her chest. The feeling wouldn't had been more misplaced if she was feasting in the great halls of Valhalla. And it was getting worse as the footsteps grew close.

Was that how her enemies have felt when she pierced through their flesh and burned through their veins? Was that how Odin had felt in his last breath? Did poor sweet Frigga felt that, too?

Was that how death felt like?

The thought made her eyes snap open somehow.

Long black robes assaulted her vision as they fluttered and danced to an unheard melody, and she could swear there was some kind of darkness sweeping through their fabric. They were attached to the navy blue dress worn by a woman whose face she just couldn't see, for she looked to the vortexes high above.

The feeling of dread was there, too, buried beneath her skin. There was something attached to it, though. Something in between lawful evil and chaotic peace. Something she just couldn't put her fingers on, but that she couldn't help not to mind.

Then the woman lowered her face, and Hela saw what laid beneath the hood: a face devoid of flesh and full of bones, whose eyes glowed white and black as if reflecting the universe beyond. She found herself enamored by their deep – by their soul-searching gaze. For a moment she thought she could lay there, forever staring into the hollow of her eyes.

But then there was a skeletal hand offered in front of her face, and a gentle smile parted on the woman's bony mouth.

"Hold my hand" she said, and her words were raspy and hollow, as if she hadn't used her voice from times Hela only dared to imagine, but, at the same time, they were beautiful and enchanting, almost like a mythical trance...

And so she held it, and the easy way in which she did so wasn't unnoticed. But, as soon as Hela's palm was nested in the her hand, she couldn't care less. She didn't cared about the dread filling her chest or the alluring nature of her gaze, nor did she cared about Asgard. All that mattered was the soft touch that slowly pulled her to her feet.

But the touch was gone soon – too soon, and Hela was alone with her thoughts again. The suspicious nagging that should had been growing inside her since she opened her eyes was finally set ablaze, and she took a shaky step back. All the while, though, her eyes were kept prisoners by the woman's glare.

"Your fear is unsweetened yet unsurprising."

"I don't fear you" said Hela, in between some coughs. It seemed like the skeletal woman wasn't the only one whose voice wasn't put to use soon enough.

"Yet you take a step back when you see my face." replied the woman, as she sat down in the lower branch of an oak tree Hela wasn't sure was there before. Her legs swung back and forth with almost childish glee. "Am I ugly, mayhaps?"

"Your appearance has nothing do to with my wariness. But I don't know where I am, and right now you're a stranger with quite the interesting costume, so 'forgive me' for being a little bit suspicious of you."

"Interesting...Though I have to ask: why do we speak like a pair of monarchs?"

"I speak like a monarch for I am a monarch" said Hela with conviction, albeit a little bit hollow.

"Are you, though?" asked the woman, with childlike curiosity. "Last I've heard, Asgard was 'dead'."

"I-"

"And even though it wasn't" she continued, careless of the other's words. "What good things come out of monarchy other than a spoiled brat's whims?"

To that the brunette narrowed her eyes and had the sudden urge to clench her fingers.

"You'll do well not to mock me" she warned; her teeth clenched.

"But I'm not mocking you, neither have I any desire to. You see, this is, after all, what this whole play is about, isn't it? Misunderstandings, I mean."

She looked to the skies once more, and continued her speech. This time in a gentle, breathless voice:

"I know who you are, Hela."

"Perhaps then you should extend the courtesy?" asked the Goddess, suspicion lacing her tone.

"Oh" replied the woman, once more making eye contact with her. "I honestly thought that was a given."

"That seems to be a pattern nowadays..." murmured the brunette, to witch the other preferred not to respond.

"You know, for someone whose title's based on my sole being, you sure lack basic knowledges of myself."

"While it's true that I have many names..." She continued, dropping to the ground. "And many faces..." She steadied her clothes, as she looked Hela in the eye. "You may call me 'Death'...even though a name could never hurt" the last, though, she muttered to herself, away from all ears.

To say the Goddess was beyond surprised would be an understatement. Not because of who the other woman was or how she looked like or what she represented. No. Because of the treatment she so far had received. She was always called "The Goddess of Death", and, deep down, she always feared what would happen when the real Death got wind of it. At the time she didn't knew if Death was a reality or a myth, but she feared her punishment for brandishing such a title.

All she could do now, though, was stare at Death's bony face, and the serene smile displayed in her lips as she looked around the field.

"S-so" she replied dry mouthed after a brief, yet too far stretched silence. Steading herself, she continued. "So I did die together with Asgard, after all..."

"Not exactly; no" was her answer.

"What?"

"You're not dead, Hela." said Death, with soft sigh. "Not yet."

"Then why am I here?" she asked, desperation and anger deep buried in her voice. "Have you come to gloat? To rub it in my face that I wasn't strong enough to fight my father's offspring? Have you come to take away the last of my pride? Have you come to-"

Her words died in her throat when Death's gentle arms encircled her in somewhat of a motherly embrace. She could feel Death's breath in her ears and her hands on her back.

"Why don't we take a walk?" she whispered in her ears after a pregnant pause. Instead of waiting for an answer, though, she twirled around Hela's body and started walking in a random direction. With a look behind her shoulders, she asked "Come with me?"

And she did.


	3. Of Titles and Truths, part II

**Disclaimer: Another. Oh, hell _**

 **Let's be brief this time, shall we? I don't own Thor or any of it's characters and/or locations, nor do I own the Avengers or anything Marvel related, really. What I do own is this idea ;)**

 **TW: Mentions of child abuse; parental neglect, depression, suicidal thoughts and self-depreciation**

 **AN: By now you should already know this is a lesbian romance. If you don't – what the hell is wrong with you!?**

 **Anyway, there's an important thing I need to tell you all right now about the plot: Death is NOT a romantic interest of Hela, nor is the other way around a truth, either. Some fragments of this chapter may pass this idea, so, if you have a dirty/suggestive mind, you could think they'd be a thing or something.**

 **Buuuuuuuuuuut – I liked their chemistry so much I'm thinking about writing a story about their pairing. I'll probably do that sometime in the future. To be honest, I don't even know if you're guys are reading this, but, if you are, let me know what you think, alright?**

 **Now, I hope you enjoy your read 3**

 **And, boys and girls and everyone in between, try and not get overly excited ;) …..not that there are many reasons for you to be -**

Arch I: A deal with the Devil

Chapter II: Of titles and Truths, part 2

Her feet slid through the wooden bridge as she followed on Death's footsteps. She could hear the waters from the gigantic waterfalls that surrounded the bridge, and the whistling winds that came from their collapse. Flames spiraled from the ground and scrapped the skies, or maybe it was the other way around – it was hard to be sure when both lacked their endings and beginnings. There was a strange feeling of belonging in her chest, though. A feeling she couldn't yet explain; nor could she ever reject.

"This place..." she began, as she took in the flames. "It feels so...familiar. It's almost like..."

"Home?" supplied Death, as she, too, devoured the landscape. "Perhaps more than Asgard ever did?"

"Do not mess with me" her eyes narrowed and her voice came out raspier. "Asgard was never my home!"

Death stopped in her tracks and slightly leant over the bridge to face the dancing flames; she gestured for Hela to do the same. The flames overlapped the waterfalls once and again, but they never touched; never collided. Hela couldn't bring herself to avert her eyes.

"Earlier you asked me if you were dead..." said the ancient being. "I didn't really gave you a clear answer, did I?"

"You sure did not" Hela replied with a scoff, much more interested in their surroundings than in whatever new way the ancient being would deflect her question.

"My apologies" the gleam in her eyes told a different story, though. "That's what I meant" she gestured to the flames. "Do you recognize this pace?" To the mountains growing in the horizon. "Do you understand it's meaning?" To the vortexes in the sky. "It's importance?" To them both.

"The reason why it's so familiar" she continued, when it was clear that the goddess would not reply. "It's because, even though you've never step feet in here before, you were always around."

"You love to speak in riddles do you not?" It seemed she wouldn't be moving away with a single straight answer, after all. To wherever she would ever move away, that is.

A serene silence fell over them with that, and, although there was no tension in the air this time, there was a subtle quest - a hungry desire for answers only the other could give.

The winds blew soft breezes as the other two elements slowly tangled themselves around the bridge, each to their own rhythm. The skies cracked and from their fissures came gentle droplets of rain, unabashed by their selfish descent.

Hela took it all in like an addict would devour his drugs. Sure not many would be captivated by the scenery, nor wouldn't they feel unsafe in it's presence; but she did, and that was enough.

She risked a glance to the woman beside her, and the vision took her breath away somehow. While she didn't knew of the being's gender prior to her "not exactly death", Death had always found a way to invade her thoughts, be them joyful or dreadful, and swim around gently inside her head.

But it was not her thoughts that held her captive then. No. It was the mesmerizing sign that graced her eyes: Death's bony face was illuminated by the flicker of flames and shadowed by the tango they invited the waterfalls to play. Her eyes glowed white and her mouth carved a content smile on her face.

"Do you take me for a monster, Hela?" they made eye contact.

"Is this your new way of avoiding my questions? By asking me new ones?"

She did not answer.

"I do..." Hela took a deep breath, and continued. "not." she averted her eyes to the flames.

"Even though I'm the one who ripped out Fenris' life?" the goddess was forced to look back. "Even though I'm the one whose hands erase life out of unborn children when they're weak? Even though I'm the one who grabs the hurt victim and is unable to take action against their healthy assailant? Even though I'm the reason your mother is forever gone?"

"Whatever makes you think my answer will change with the throw of a few obvious truths?" Hela asked, seeing something change in Death's stare. She closed hers. "One can live a full life if another does not rips it away. But is it really you that rips life away? I do not believe so. You said so yourself, didn't you? You're not the one to blame for all of it."

"Yet, you see yourself as one."

It was not a question.

"It's different when it is I that hurts." she looked to the sky and let the rain soak her face. "You're a collector, if anything. And if you're a collector, then I am the dealer."

"Have you ever felt bad about their deaths? Guilty, perhaps?" she was curious this time. "Have you ever felt the need to repent for what you did?"

"I would be a liar if I told you I have." she bowed her head then.

There was nothing more to say, really. It was true that she didn't wanted to be an executioner or even the Goddess of Death. But it was also true that she couldn't bring herself to feel bad about the ones she killed or hurt. She did it all in her own defense, after all, and feeling guilty or the sort would mean she's guilty of winning – guilty of surviving.

And that she was not, nor would she ever be.

It was also true, though, that she didn't knew if she lived or died. Death was as enigmatic as ever, only now she had a body and a voice, but, as breathtaking as they could be, they did nothing to appease her doubts, nor did they appease her thoughts.

She was surprised when Death's arms embraced her from behind. She felt the woman's jaw rest on her shoulders, but couldn't bring herself to look her in the eye.

"And I'd be a liar if I told you I care." Death whispered in her ears. "Do you know what I am?" She waited but seconds. "I'm a promise, Hela. A promise that's kept by many but one, and now, perhaps maybe two."

"Whatever do you want from me?" Hela's voice broke. "Whatever do you gain from bringing me here, wherever it is, and touching me and doing whatever you want, when you could as easily be somewhere else, grabbing someone else?"

"But I did not bring you here, my queen." Death's hands gently massaged her waist. "No." she held and turned her face, and ever so slowly recreated eye contact. " **You** brought **me** here."

Hela's eyes widened.

"It's true, really" Death caressed her cheeks. "You were so furious. So desperate. So defeated and so, so, sad..."

"You wished for me for a long time, did you not?"

"You wished for me so much that you brought me here – to your very soul. Do you know how wonderful that is? That someone wishes for me, not because their life haven't gone out as planned, but because they fell in love with me? "

Hela closed her eyes. She couldn't bare the burning stare any longer.

"Do not cry, my child" Said Death, as her bony fingers shed away the other's tears. "It is nothing to be ashamed of. No. This is wonderful, really."

"Have you any idea how many times I was called by someone who never meant it? By someone who just wanted to disappear? Have you any idea how many times they tried to use me for their own selfish desires? Have you any idea how long I've waited for someone like you? Someone who'd come to me willingly, not reaching for an ending or an escape – someone reaching for **me**!"

"But I'm afraid that I'm not what you truly deserve, am I?" she continued, her voice like a melody.

Hela squeezed her eyes.

"After all this tragedy, can you really say that you have lived? Can you really look me in the eye and say that you have, indeed, felt alive in the last few days? In the last few years? In the last few centuries? Have even felt alive at all?"

"This is your soul, Hela" her voice was gentle, almost like a mother's would be. "Why do you think the landscape is so...different?"

"It's because you're hurting" she put a strand of hair behind the goddess' ears. "It is because you've lost your way" she poked her nose, and she opened her bleary green eyes again. "And I'll have none of that."

"What do you want from me?" her tears ran free and refused to be masked by the pouring rain. They were almost like battle scars, but not out of weakness nor out of glory. They were like scars carved only by pain.

"I want you stop being so blind and remember who you are!" her voice was firm this time, almost angry. Not at Hela, though.

"Tell me, my child" she turned the goddess around and cupped her face with both hands. She stared her in the eyes. "What where you the goddess of again?"


	4. To Find a Lost Soul

**Disclaimer: Maybe I should tell ya to check the first chapter for a disclaimer, maybe not. The fact is that none of this characters, places or locations belong to me. They're all Marvel's copyrights. System Shock 2 is a video game co-developed by Looking Glass Studios and Irrational Games...which means it isn't mine, too. If you like darker games, I suggest you try it out, though.**

 **TW: Mentions of child abuse; parental neglect, depression, suicidal thoughts and self-depreciation**

 **AN: I won't be saying this is a lesbian romance anymore. Really.**

 **Also, I might have neglected to inform you this story is a "character driven" one. What it means is that the characters are the ones making the plot move forward, so there's gonna be many dialogs and reflections along the way. Nothing too boring, I hope.**

 **Now, let's enjoy the read, shall we?**

Arch I: A deal with the Devil

Chapter III: To Find a Lost Soul

 **"What is a drop of rain, compared to the storm? What is a thought, compared to the mind?"  
The Many, in System Shock 2 (1999)**

Hela's voice betrayed her lips, drowned by the lump stuck inside her throat. Her eyes stung closed and her knees burned to her heart's unwilling desire. Her hands clenched tightly at her sides as she stepped back from the gentle touch.

"This is just a game to you, isn't it?" Her hands gripped Death roughly by the shoulders. "Do you inflate your ever growing ego by making me feel vulnerable?" Flames spurted from the waterfalls and spread across their length. "Do you feel better when you play with me?" Angry thunders broke above their heads. "Do you savor it when you break me?" Raindrops poured their anguish from above.

An uncomfortable silence overtook them both, broke only by the goddess' heavy and nonrhythmic breathing. Their gazes remained locked and their expressions frozen, but the landscape held zero regard for their trance, and instead wreaked shameless havoc against it's defaults with no small dose of abandon.

Spirals twisted and turned across the sky, spreading unrealistic cracks as they descended to unseen grounds. Small whirlwinds approached the bridge and damaged it's fragile cables just as icicles gathered and grew along it's wooden surface.

"Answer me!" her voice broke as she screamed her lugs off. Her eyes became just like saucers when the cables gave in and the bridge collapsed in itself; her next words swallowed by their imminent descent. But they closed just as tight when she felt Death's body escape from her fingers and her own body hightail into the abyss below.

And suddenly she was found herself _there_ again, and Asgard was exploding again and she was being blown away, and Fenris' body was disintegrating, and her eyes were burning and her arms were separating from her torso, and everything but pain scrolled through her head.

She couldn't breathe, she couldn't think, she couldn't move nor could she find any sort of relief. She was bound again to a torture that was to last but mere seconds, yet kept going on, and on, and on and again, repeating in an eternal cycle of sadism and cruelty.

And what hurt her the most was the truth: the knowledge that no one was going to save her – that no one loved her enough to try; that no one cared enough to notice. What hurt her the most was the knowledge that she was so utterly lone, and so desperate for someone – anyone who wouldn't look away from her.

Men were first disgusted by her looks, then scared of her power. Women were intimidated by her prowess and wit enough to stay away from her. Her father was a control freak of a maniac who held her in as high standards as he held their cold blooded enemies from Jotunheim. Her mother had tried to be supportive, she really did. But in the end, Odin was much more important than her – he'd always be.

And it was all before she snapped at her father and tried to trace her own destiny, only to be banished to her own inferno.

But it was ultimately her fault, was it not? Who would want to be close to her, anyway? Who would want to be near a murderer like her? Who would want to be close to the Goddess of...

"Death?" she breathed out, and suddenly she was back where she was before; back to the only place she has ever felt at home – back to the insides of her soul.

And yet, she still fell. Not close to the way she has fallen before, though. She fell in silence this time. No more blooming sounds or bone ripping explosions. And even though complete darkness assaulted her vision, it brought forth an ethereal peace.

It took her but a moment to realize why.

There was no darkness in front of her eyes. No. There was but the fabric of a dress, and her face was held comfortably against it. There was nothing in front of her eyes but the soft fabric of Death's beautiful dress.

And, in that moment, she found her home.

"It is not a game for me, you know?" the words were like a caress to her ears. " **You** are not a game for me, Hela." Death's hand found one of her cheeks. "I do not wish to make you feel vulnerable." She gently brought them both to eye level. "I do not cast you in any play." And touched their foreheads. "Nor would I ever take any pleasure in your anguish."

"Can't you see, Hela?" she asked as she looked around them, inviting Hela to do the same. "Don't you see were we are? How this place has crumbled?"

Stormy green eyes drifted through every crack and debris that surrounded their descent. They took in the lack of waterfalls and burning pillars, the lack of winds and spirals, the lack of warmth and the lack of cold...they took in all that should have been there and all the fissured remains that were. They took it all in...and they hurt.

"Can't you see how this place has broken?" Death's words; they sent a chill deep beneath her skin, as if her bones protested against an unfelt frost. And maybe they did, for her mind held no qualms in showing it's protests.

Only moments ago, at the very first cracks of her endless free fall, Hela thought she knew all about suffering. She thought she knew all about pain. But ripped arms and burned eyes could never be painful enough to compare to the poisonous feeling that cascaded through her core.

And still, she felt safe – safer that she always had been. And that's what hurt her the most, for she knew what it meant. She had seen it many times, really. She knew exactly what feeling safe while at mercy of your torment meant.

It meant that you've met your end. That there was nothing more to hold on to or to try and reach for. That you've fought as long as you could. That you've gone as far as you'll ever go.

It meant that, despite all your efforts, despite all your pain and all your suffering, despite everything you have lost and everything you have found, despite everything you thought you were and everything you wished to be, you've lost your battle – that you were defeated.

It also meant that you finally broke.

"I cannot be your glue" Death whispered in her ear, as she, one time more, embraced the goddess from behind. "You need to remember, my dear."

"I don't know how" was Hela's rough and weakly breathed reply. Death used her fingers to obscure and close her eyes as her sole response.

"Yes, you do." were her words. "It's not hard, Hela. You just need to remember who you are."

"I am..." she began. "I am Odin's firstborn and the rightful queen of Asgard..."

"No, Hela." Death rasped against her ears, her fingers still obscuring her view. "Not who you were, nor who you may become. You need to remember who you are. Who you **really** are."

Who'd think such a pathetically simple question would turn out to be the most painfully hard request? Who would believe her if she told them how hard of a quest it was to remember who she really is? Who would even care enough to listen, anyway?

Yes. That's right. She was a murderer, a monster, a weapon; a tool. She was the better warrior of her time and the most powerful ásynja ever born. She was the perfect weapon – the perfect fool.

But that was all in the past now. It wasn't hard to be the most powerful ásynja when you're the only real one left. It wasn't hard to be the best warrior of her time when Asgard was no more. It wasn't hard to be a murderer when all that was left was of her people were but blind mosquitoes mindlessly following their poison around. And, honestly, being a monster was quite relative nowadays. Not that she needed that to be labeled as one, really.

She could say she was dead now, though. But Death said she wasn't, and Death had no reason to lie. She knew full well what to expect from the afterlife, and what she currently lived was far from it. It was painful, more so than she ever thought it could be, but it still was far too weak to be her punishment.

So what was she? What could she possibly be?

"It's not about titles, Hela." Were Death's new words. "It's not about the past nor the future. It's not about what you are. It's about **who** , Hela. It's about who you are."

It was true, wasn't it? Death had told her before, didn't her? How could she forget it? But that as a title, too, wasn't it? Hela: The Goddess of Death. That was Odin's idea, really. Well, maybe not Odin's, but surely not hers. What was it Frigga called her, again? Hela: The Goddess of Icy Glares.

She could've never fought the small smile that overtook her face with that. It was amusing, really, how even after being reduced to nothing but a bunch of memories, the woman could bring a smile to her face.

It was a shame how she held nothing more than bitterness for Hela after the conquest of the nine realms. It wasn't that hard to understand, really. But, then again, if she really cared about Hela, she would have objected to Odin's wishes, wouldn't she? She would have stopped him from turning her into his little fool-tool instead of despising her for what she was forced to do.

The thought brought her the painful realization that even then she was never loved – never wanted. She wondered what happened with Thor. Actually, she knew exactly what happened with Thor. He did what he was told to do, but, instead of being betrayed and banished, he was cherished and turned into a king.

But what about Loki? She heard no good tales of the prince, but she also heard that Frigga cherished him just as much as she cherished his brother.

So what was it that was so wrong with Hela? What was so wrong with her that Frigga would love a child of their sworn enemy, that she could love an imperfect male copy of her daughter, but could never love her original child?

Have she seen what she'd become? Was that the reason why she closed her off? Was that the reason why Frigga never loved her like she loved her brothers? Was that the reason why Odin used her the way he did?

Was that the reason why Thor told her she was the worst? Why her people feared her when she was set free? Was that the reason why they could accept Loki, but they couldn't accept her?

No.

That wasn't true, was it?

The real reason why they couldn't accept her was because they didn't knew who she was. Because her father, for some reason, thought it was better to erase her from existence – to pretend she was never born. Not even her brother's knew who she was. The expressions on their faces during their first meeting said as much.

But then why not erase Loki? And how could Thor call her "the worst" when Loki was the reason why his beloved Midgard was put in danger in the first place? She knew all about his latest romance; of course her people never accepted her, but she knew how to coerce them into giving her the information she needed. It was, after all, "a part of the job"...or that's what one of these blasted Valkyries told her after she became Odin's Executioner.

Why was it that Loki deserved a second chance, yet, they never stopped to listen to her? Did they really think she wanted to kill everyone? Did they ever wondered if she wanted war? Of course she said she'd conquer all the other realms, and she would've, but she never said she'd engage in full war with them. She never once told them she'd massacre innocents and rob their children for her personal glory – that was her father's thing, after all.

Death asked her who she was. She asked her who she **is**. But how could she possibly reply if she herself had no idea how to answer that question? She had no idea who she really was.

And it was all Odin's fault, too. He was the one who made her who she became – he was the one who took hold of her hands and forced that blade into that innocent woman's chest just so she could understand the meaning of taking a life. He was the one who forced her into being an warrior, when, at the time, she would've much more preferred to be taught in the arts of wizardry.

And that's when it finally hit her. The realization that, just as Frigga could influence her from beyond grave, Odin's hands still held a firm hold of hers. His chains still controlled her like a toy, and she still was but his pawn.

If Odin had never forced her into the path of the ásynjas, then who would she be now? Would she be Queen? Would she ever receive her title of Goddess of Death? Would she end up being Thor's big sister? Would she end up as Loki's teacher?

The thought made her laugh. Loki already had a compulsion for green and a gloomy look in his eyes. If she didn't knew better, she'd say he was her son. He was her male version, alright. Would she had turned into Loki if she'd being allowed to indulge in wizardry?

That one gave her chills.

She was doing it again. She could see it clearly now, and wondered how she had never seen it before: how she mirrored herself as others for she knew not how to be herself. Because she didn't knew who she really was. She wasn't sure if it was pathetic or poetic, but it must've been some kind of karma, that's for sure.

She remembered how she wanted to be a wizard, for that was a common trait of asgardian women. She remembered how she wanted to have golden yellow hair, for that's what she saw when she looked at other heads. She remembered how she wanted to please Odin at first, for that's what everyone else did. And how she murdered innocent by his command, for that's what her colleagues did.

Was that her answer, then? Was that who she really was? A mirror? Some sort of copycat with no free will? An empty shell devoid of self respect?

No. No. She refused to believe it. She refused to accept it. She refused to be a mirror. She refused to be a shadow of Odin, Loki or anyone else.

But then what was she? Who the hell was she?

An animal whose leash was broken and suddenly found itself bearing no meaning. That's what she was. That's **who** she was: a wounded animal lost and alone, drifting around and trying to meant something to someone.

But who she **really** was, the one she was buried inside her own core, wasn't the Goddess of Death, nor Odin's executioner, nor the leashless animal. No. She was just a woman searching for a purpose – for a reason to live. Who she really was wasn't a toy nor a fool. She was not what they made her be. No. She was **Hela**. That's it: **Hela**. Just **Hela**. That's who she'll ever be in her core: **Hela**.

" **Hela** " was Death's gentle whisper. "Why don't you open your eyes?"

When has she even closed them? She did not know. But she paid the thought no mind, for as soon as she opened her eyes, she was no longer in a free fall.


	5. From Your Core Thou Shall Rise

**My deep apologies. It came to my attention that this chapter was misplaced with the next one.**

 **Now it's all as it should be.**

* * *

 **Arch I: A deal with the Devil**

 **Chapter IV: From Your Core Thou Shall Rise**

She felt the fabric beneath her head before she opened her eyes. It was cold and it felt weird, but it also felt right; as if her head had always belonged there. Or maybe it was just the softness putting words in her mouth.

Her eyelids were heavy and slightly hesitant to move, but she managed to rearrange their position with some effort. Her unfocused eyes opened and were ever so slowly dominated by the bright purple lights that came from high above.

She was finally so calm and relaxed she just didn't wanted to think at all. She just wanted to stare above and wait for her vision to come back, and then just lay there still – forever more in peace.

She could suddenly swear she saw the beautiful face of a strange woman hover over her, but, as her eyes' comfort grew, she saw her for who she really was: she saw Death's gentle gaze staring right back at her. And she looked even more breathtaking than anytime before. It took her but a moment to understand exactly where her head rested, but she couldn't really bring herself to mind it even after she did.

"Do you like what you see?" asked the older woman.

"Yes..." was Hela's breathless answer. "You're beautiful." She closed her eyes while a soft smile painted her face.

"Why, thank you, my dear!" Death blinked her eyes a few times, as if bathing an imaginary eyelash. Her voice was just as playful and a small smirk teared at her face. "But I'm afraid I was actually talking about our little change in scenario."

And Hela tried to sit up with a gasp, only to find out she couldn't bring herself to do so. She was exhausted. But not exhausted enough not to try again. She was able to pull herself up a few inches, but, to Hela's wide eyed confusion, Death used both her hands to push her back down.

"Now, don't be like that" she playfully admonished. "You need to lay down and rest for a while, my dear, or you'll be here for a much longer time than you'd probably like."

"Why am I so tired?" asked the goddess, as she closed her eyes again.

"Believe you or not, but one's stamina is sure to burn away when they repair their own soul. It's quite the...'demanding' procedure, I'd say. Not that I can speak out of experience, of course."

That made Hela reconsider the woman whose fingers stroked her hair. There was no mistake about her identity as "Death", but what was her story, anyway? How could she be Death if she was alive? Was she even alive? Every thought was just another question to swim across her mind, but she couldn't really help herself. Then, it hit her:

"You have no soul?"

"Every living being is gifted with a soul" was her response.

"And you?" she swallowed. "Were you gifted with a soul?"

"I was never alive, Hela. I don't have a soul, nor will I ever have one."

A deep silence overtook them both. It was broken by the soft sounds of water that came from somewhere behind their backs. It was a wonder how neither had noticed it's source before.

A soft breeze caressed both their faces as it danced through the leafs of the big tree Death rested her back against. It made a soft humming sound, too, as if to soothe their sorrow away.

"I'm sorry" Hela opened her eyes and stared into Death's glowing orbs.

"Whatever for, dear?" Her fingers never stopped stroking. "It's not like I miss having one or like I wish to."

"I'm not sorry about your soul...or lack thereof."

Death hummed a confused sound. Her fingers now traced patterns along Hela's hair.

"I'm sorry that you're unable to relate to someone else. At least not like that."

"And I'm sorry that I'm wasting your time" she continued before the other woman could speak. "I know you have places to be and souls to collect and all that. But you're here with me instead, and who knows what's happening to those dead souls. What I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry for being a-" her words gave way to a painful moan when Death tugged at one of her hairs.

"What was that for?" she was confused.

"For turning the grass black" was Death's dull response.

"What?" And now Hela was incredulous.

"I liked the green one better – it reminded me of your eyes."

Hela was at a loss for words. She didn't really knew what the woman was talking about. Could it be another one of her riddles? They were, after all, her "signature flag".

She tried to come up with an answer, but, when she looked back at Death's eyes, they weren't focused on her anymore. She was looking to her right, and, for a minute, Hela thought she had upset the woman. But she spoke before any new apology could leave her lips.

"You need to stop degrading yourself, my dear" she kept looking to the side. "It's not gone for your heart. Nor is it any good for your soul."

"Do you realize, Hela?" she looked at the woman whose head rested on her knees. "Do you realize what you have done? What you have created?" She took a deep breath "I told you before, didn't I? This is your soul. You can't hide who you are, Hela. Not here" she gestured to the landscape. "Not here" she used a finger to poke Hela's forehead. "And definitively not here" she poked her chest, right where her heart was buried.

"The grass is never going to be green again" she continued, now back to stroking the goddess' hair. "Nor will these skies ever appear to be blue."

"So this mean I'm broken beyond repair?" Hela's voice was fragile, like a child whose mother said she'd be back by the afternoon, but never made it back home again.

"Quite the opposite, my dear. This mean you've changed. This mean you're evolving. And, as much as I preferred the green grass for aesthetic purposes, I'm growing found of this black grass for it may not suit your eye color, but it surely fits your soul."

"A black grass for a black soul?" she asked.

"Why do the living always find a way make darkness look like a foul thing? Darkness is not a bad thing, my dear. The sooner you understand this, the sooner you'll be able to accept yourself and to complete your 'redecorating process'."

"What is really foul" she continued, gazing into Hela's eyes as her own turned into the blackest orbs the other had ever seen. "Is the way the living mistreat the darkness and pin her to their own agendas, only so they won't need to face the whole of their actions. They use darkness as a blame-shifter, and that's the real foul thing."

"Is darkness like you?" Hela asked, completely at mercy of Death's endless gaze.

"No, she's not like me...not really." Death took a breath and let her eyes turn back to what they were before. "The darkness was here a long time ago – way before the first light was born. We've met in between spirals and voids, back when they had no purpose but to exist, and neither did we..."

A longing look grab a hold of her eyes after that, and, if her jaw had any muscles at all, Hela was sure that they'd be clenching shut. There was something else there, too. Something the goddess couldn't really decipher, but she couldn't believe that solving that one mystery would bring her any comfort.

She decided not to pry more than that.

"Death..." she whispered, catching the woman's attention. "Why are we really here? What's gonna happen now?" Death gave her a sad little smile, and prepared to answer. "But please, don't speak in riddles this time."

Taking a deep breath, the woman answered her.

"Because you were dying, Hela."

The goddess eyes sew shut. So that was it? That was how it was going to end, after all? Death had told her she wasn't dead, but she never asked her if she was dying, did she? She never thought about the possibility, really.

There were so many things she wanted to do, so many thing she wanted to see and say. So many wishes she had long thought forgotten now overwhelmed her mind so much that she tried to scream.

But her voice failed her, too.

She could hear something strange, though. A muffled echo inside her head that seemed to scream something she just couldn't understand. Maybe it was whispered to her, or maybe it was not – she couldn't bring herself to care. All she wanted was a little closure before she...

Was that why Death was here? To bring her closure before the inevitable? Was that why she was being nice to her, even after all she had done?

Was she really such a pitiful case that Death had to go out of her way to bring her solace? If so, then maybe she should just go on her way, shouldn't she? Maybe she should just disappear...

And there it was, again. That sound. That strange muffled voice echoing in the depths of her mind. What was it saying, again? Should she even care? She surely didn't a few seconds ago.

"Hell..."

Hell? Was that what it was saying? Was that supposed to be a treat? A warning, perhaps? But it was pronounced so strangely...it was almost like...

It was almost like her name.

"Hela..." so it was her name, after all... "And now you got me all wet and bothered, too..." The last was but a murmur.

She shot her eyes open and was met by Death's rain soaked face.

"You weren't listening to a single word I said, were you?"

"I was" she rasped, breathless and slightly disoriented "You said that I'm dying."

"I most surely did not" Death vehemently refused, as she childishly shook her head. "I said you were dying, Hela. Not that you are dying. Those two sentences have a whole word of difference, my dear."

"Plus" she continued when the goddess opened her mouth to reply. "I said you got me all wet and bothered, too." And Hela choked on her own breath so much she didn't realized she had sat down until much later, when Death's pity driven fingers left her hair and aimed for the center of her back.

The sky turned purple, and the rain poured in reverse, lifting away from grass and cloth to fly right back to the soft spirals above.

"Are you always this unashamed?" asked the goddess, between coughs and pulls of air.

"I'm dead, Hela." Death explained in the same voice a parent would explain to a child. "There's no need to measure my words, nor will there ever be. And, for the record, it was you who reeducated their meaning, not me."

"But they were effective, weren't they?" she continued, but waited until they were eye-to-eye to keep going. "They got your full attention, after all..."

"Seriously?" Just how many times would the goddess dance through emotions in the following minutes? "That's your way of gaining someone's attention? By the use of slutty innuendos?"

"Not really, no." She shook her head. "I usually go for their deep, darkest desires, but I decided to change tactics for once. I'm glad it worked, though."

"So?" Hela asked and waited for a verbal answer that never came. "Weren't we in the middle of a somewhat important talk?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, dear. I'm kinda spacing out a lot today. Maybe I should retire?"

"Somehow, I don't believe that's a good idea. I don't believe that's a good idea at all."

"But that would be the deadly point, dear." Mocked Death. "But, as I was saying before I was so rudely ignored by you, we're here, in your soul, because you were dying, and I heard your pleas – your inner desires. And, when you called me, I couldn't really say no, could I?"

She took a deep breath, and got to her feet. She offered Hela her hand as support and pulled her to her feet, too.

"Come with me, and I'll explain it to you. No more riddles. No more innuendos. No more jokes and no more remarks." she moved half around the tree, and pulled the goddess along by their joined hands. "Come with me, and I'll tell you my deal."

"Drop my hand if you want, though" she continued as she looked behind her shoulders with a small smile that could've been mistaken for a sad driven one. "Drop my hand and I'll send you on your way, and we shall never meet again."

Their feet ceased their movement.

"So either I follow you or I die?" Hela's voice was laced with sarcasm and disregard, and Death's eyes narrowed as soon as she noticed the absence of surprise. "Forgive me if neither seem to lead me to a welcomed path."

"Rest assured, dear." Death purred, closing the distance between them and holding Hela's face in both her hands. "That your decision here is much more important than a matter of life and death. It's a matter of future and dreams."

"So" she stroked her cheeks and turned around so she could mold her back into Hela's unsuspecting chest. "If you want to listen to what I have to say, you're invited to come with me..."

"But" she left the goddess' warmth, with great care not to untangle their hands. "If you want to part ways, you're free to do so. Either way your existence will be treasured intact." She stopped her walk.

"This is the second time you said it" was Hela's only reply. "This is the second time you asked me to follow you somewhere. This is the second time you gave me a choice." She approached Death from behind. "And this is also the second time I ever was presented with a choice."

"You're coming with me, then?" Their eyes locked for the thousand time. Hela's tight grip was all the answer she needed before they circled around the tree and disappeared within it's shadow.


	6. To Be Cursed Is To Be Healed, part 1

**Disclaimer: As I've said before and will be saying a lot more (unless I suddenly have my conscience swept with Stan Lee's), I do not own Marvel nor anyone of it's characters and/or places and universes that may or may not appear in this story. All I own is this plot idea. Death is a character from Marvel comics too, by the way, so I don't own her...maybe it's for the best, don't you think? *Insert maniacal wink here***

 **TW: Mentions of child abuse; parental neglect, depression, suicidal thoughts and self-depreciation.**

 **AN: First of all I want to apologize for all the time it took to publish this new half chapter (yes, that's why there's a "part 1" there, people, c'moooooon!), even more so to my new reviewers. Really, I'm sorry that the actual time in which you review my work is the time in which I have this small hiatus.**

 **So, if anyone's wondering, this happened because I've got a new PC, and let's say the keyboard was NOT a part of the deal xD**

 **If you're not, why the hell are you reading this? Sho, sho, go read the actual thing you came here to, you lazy bastards :v**

 **AN2: For you that reviewed my work, thank you very much and I hope that you keep liking and supporting my work in this beautiful journey that's about to come 3 - this is a heart, by the way.**

 **ANOTHER UNUSEFUL INFO FOR THE PLOT: A formidable creature requested me to write a new oneshot in "Spiderman: Homecoming"'s universe. It's another f/f pairing that I believe your guys are going to like (when it comes out, that is xD)**

 **Now onto the story, and I hope you enjoy it and feel free to review me (you don't really need to register yourself in the website if you don't want to) and call my attention to the potential mistakes/plot holes that you may come across ;)**

 **Arch 1 - A Deal With The Devil**

 **Chapter 5: To Be Cursed Is To Be Healed, part 1**

The time she heard Death's words, Hela thought the woman was stupidly deranged. Crazily mad, even. One does not simply walks on top of water, after all.

She should have known better than to doubt her words, though, for as soon as her feet touched the dark blue surface, she was dancing all along it's body, twisting and turning round and around - basking in it's small waves with a glee the Goddess had yet to experience herself.

There was something strange about the water, though. Something quite more sinister than the woman who effortlessly walked up on it's surface. No. There was something vile inside it's hungry depths - something that cast it in pure shadows and made damn sure to occult it's every guts.

So, when Death smiled and signaled for her to approach, she couldn't help but hesitate. It was as if her brain had shut down with the mere thought of her feet touching the substance. There was a nagging feeling of dread buried deep in her chest, and she wasn't planning to ignore it this time. She did it in the past, and ended up sealed a thousand fleets of dead bones underneath whatever personal hell Odin sent her to.

Her eyes were unfocused and cold. They stared at the ripples with apprehension and fear, as if they'd jump her in the face and drain her of everything that made her whole - everything that Death had just showed her how to appreciate and behold.

"What is it, my child?" Asked Death, now mere inches from her face. How could she be that fast? "What is it that afflicts you?" A hand rested on her shoulders.

"I do not know..." She cast her eyes away.

"I find it hard to believe that one such as yourself would be afraid of an 'imaginary' lake." The woman's gentle breath caressed her ears again. "But..." She inhaled her scent. "Maybe..." and her lips softly brushed her earlobe. "You're afraid of what hides inside?"

"I-"

"But why would that be, I wonder..." Death kept up with her speech as she planted a finger against the goddess' lips. "Why would you be afraid of the contents of a water body?"

"I thought you said 'no more riddles'." Was her only answer. She refused to let another long silence befall them, or to let herself fall into one other 'game'. There was just so much annoying a good result could mask.

Death's face left her neck to position itself in front of her eyes. What was it the woman spotted on her eyes, that she always found a way to lock their gaze? Were they that beautiful or unique? Maybe she found them strange? Repulsive like the Asgardian men she grew with? She had even commented on them before. Something about the grass?

But the real question was: what did SHE herself found so alluring in Death's eyes, that she could never willingly tear hers away? She comforted herself in the novelty of it all. She told herself that it wasn't the ever so clean emotions in the woman's eyes that drew her in, but the novelty that came with them being Death's, and no one else's.

"But this riddle is not mine, is it?" Asked Death with something in her orbs Hela though she'd never genuinely see again: understanding.

"You created this riddle, Hela" she continued, now stepping backwards into the water. "And the only way you could ever move onto something breathtaking, is understanding it's meaning" she tilted her head. "So, why don't you look beneath the surface, my child?"

So that's what it was, then. Not mesmerizing allure, but soft and gentle control of the likes she had never experienced before, even though she had witnessed it by occasion. It was different from Odin's barges and demands, and oh so far away from Frigga's fake poisons. It was the same kind of control she once saw a father exert upon a child whose hope died before his own eyes. The same kind of control that ignited a raging tornado inside the same child's soul. It was the kind that made you better - that made you whole.

And that was why she took a deep breath and stepped onto the water's heartless surface. A soft tingle skyrocketed from the point of her toenails and exploded at the end of her hairs with each step she took. The wind twisted it's path and a soft breeze penetrated her skin, trailing goosebumps all along her spine.

Her steps were slowed by her apprehension and motivated by her resolve. They took her from the edges of the lake all the way up to it's center, where Death waited for her with a hand held up - an offering of understanding support.

What took her breath away was not the strangely soft skeletal fingers that entwined with her own nor was it the familiar scent she could smell in the woman's robes. It was the glimpse of her faceless reflection in the water below, who stared right back at her with a pair of cracked soulless eyes. A steel-like moss shadowed her twin's face and living serpents replaced her veins.

There was something else, too, just like there was something strange with the liquid surface she now walked upon. It took her some seconds to understand what it was: an eerie feeling of detachment that crept through her own cracks. A disconnected sense of non-belonging that rooted her feet on the ground and caged her limps in the air.

Many would call the feeling 'the approaching of death'. Hela called it a nostalgic memory.

"Do you understand it now, Hela?" Death asked, serene; and the goddess would be lying if she said she didn't held herself in the woman's voice with a grip as intense as the piercing of a lightning blade. "Do you understand what I meant for you to see?"

"Do you understand now what waits for you in the end of this road?" she continued, forcing Hela's eyes up to meet hers. "Is that what you want? To be truly broken beyond all repair? To be alone to drown in the guilt brought by the bodies you butchered and burned for the sake of a place that's now but a void buried beneath your heart?"

"Was that your plan?" Death caressed her face with the tips of her eternally black nails. "To be the queen of a land who never accepted you? To be the goddess of a people who never loved you? To be broken by your closest and left to waste in the hands of your undoers?"

"Was that really what you wished for when you burned?"

Black shadows swallowed the skin around the goddess' eyes as green bloody tears leaked and snaked around her jaw. They fell into the lake and their collision unleashed ever growing waves against the shores. A small white light took hold of her irises and poured into Death's with passionate glee.

"I don't want to be forgotten!" She took a shaky breath. "I don't want to be erased!" Her voice trembled. "I don't want to replace the All-Father's bloody hands with mine!" The light grew brighter. "I just don't want to be alone!" Her voice broke down together with her tears.

"Yes!" Exclaimed Death with unadulterated glee, as she took hold of Hela's shoulders and pinned her down to the water's freezing surface.

"I don't want to rule over a blasted people who want nothing more than a tool to keep them out of harm!" the goddess screamed.

"Yes!" Death repeated, straddling the younger brunette.

"I don't want to be a weapon anymore!"

"And what is it that you want!?" Their foreheads touched. "What is it that you desire!?"

"I want to be a part of something good!" The horned helm she didn't noticed she was wearing now cracked above her head. "I want to be accepted!" The cracks spread. "I want to be free of my chains!" The material shook.

" **Yes!** " Death drowned them both in the lake.

"I just want to be loved!" The goddess screamed beneath the surface while both her helm and armor were disintegrated by the water currents spread by the tidal waves that surrounded them from above. They both suddenly reversed back from the lake, as if the world around them had flipped it's axis at once and left them exactly where they had laid before.

"Then allow me to intervene!" Death screamed against their almost touching lips. "Allow me to replace that disgusting place as your source, and give yourself to me in return!" their noses brushed. "Allow yourself to be mine, and feel me in your core as I allow myself to become yours!"

" **Allow me to save you from your undoing, help me cure me from my own demise!** "

"Please" begged the goddess, closing her eyes as her rough voice escaped her lips. "Please, allow me to be myself again!"

"Then let me be your new hope." Death said as she let go of her shoulders to grab her by the back of her neck. "Let me be your new guide" She brought their faces together. "Let me be your disguise" She brushed her nose with her own. "Let me be your poison and let me be your antidote. "She left a trail of butterfly kisses up her face. " **Let me be your rebirth**." And she sealed her lips against the her forehead at last.


	7. To Be Cursed Is To Be Healed, part 2

**Disclaimer: Yes, my dear, these characters and locations do not belong to me. They're all Marvel's copyrights and I hold no legal grounds to them, nor to any possible MCU plot that may or may not appear in this fic. I own just my own plot and silly ideas. And certainly a much bigger appreciation for villains than Thor's MCU writers _**

 **TW: Mentions of child abuse; parental neglect, depression, suicidal thoughts and self-depreciation.**

 **AN: Hello, my dears, and welcome back to the final part of our first arch! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing. And, for those of you who like Death, worry not, for she's Death, and Death is Death, so, yeah, she is Death. "What!?" you ask? Well, she's a main character - that's what I mean.**

 **Oh, and if you want to discuss something about the plot, feel free to PM me at any time.**

 **And thank you for my beautiful reviewers 3 -my black heart for ya**

 **Arch 1 - A Deal With The Devil**

 **Chapter 5: To Be Cursed Is To Be Healed, part 2**

An endless void covered her closing eyes as blissful nothingness swallowed her whole. A wet spot still caressed her forehead where Death's lips had pressed not so long ago. There was a par of arms snaked around her chest now. They held her close to the soft coldness that crept from the woman behind. And she wouldn't trade that cold for a warm day in Valhalla, she knew.

She knew her body was as bared as bared could be, but she felt no discomfort or desire to cover or move away. Maybe she felt like that because she was already stripped bare before Death so many times and in so many ways in the last few hours that she just couldn't bring herself to care any more. Maybe what brought her lack of discomfort was the way in which Death portrayed herself from the very bottom of her core - without a mask like the one she herself took so long to break. Maybe was a combination of both?

The real answer, though, was perfectly clear when one of the arms moved up to caress her neck and cheeks: She trusted Death. She trusted her, and that was a scary feeling to develop towards someone she knew to be so well versed in the arts of manipulation. So much more when she had no doubt about how one sided that feeling really was.

But something felt different. There was something so utterly genuine in the depths of the woman's gaze... There was something so softly whispered in between her words...Something that felt just too real to be true, but held no qualms of portraying the truth...

Hela was not naive, though. She knew how bad trust hurt when the people you put your faith in belittled you for something else - for someone else. She knew how screwed up your mind became when that same people turned around and stabbed you in the back, even though all you had ever done was try and follow their rules and pleasure their greed.

So she knew Death had a hidden agenda stuffed inside a hole somewhere, just waiting for the right time to emerge and reveal it's true self. She knew it probably wouldn't be fair to her nor would it do her any good. She also knew it would probably hurt her down to the core and recreated everything she had conquered since she woke up in her soul.

But, just like her sense of modesty held no strength inside Death's cold embrace, her common sense held no reason when fronted by her treatment. And so Hela trusted her, not just out of convenience or loneliness - but out of her own free will. She trusted Death out of her hunger for a new chance to exist away from Asgard's shadow. A chance to be free from Odin's master plottings and Frigga's unachievable needs.

"It's quite peculiar in here, isn't it?" The words were breathed against her ear. She opened her eyes to see the same blackness that surrounded her before. No more lights came from the sky, no more winds from the east and no more water poured from underneath.

But still she could see the giant grey statues protruding from the ground. Still she could feel the gentle caress of Death and the drenching brush of hope that crept through her limbs and core like the waters from before.

"Where are we?" She asked, unashamed by the way her breasts moulded against Death's front as the woman twirled her around. They didn't lock gazes this time, though. Instead, Death guided Hela's head to her own bosom in a much more tender embrace.

"Can't you guess it?" She brushed the goddess' hair and caressed her ears. "We're in the innermost part of your soul, Hela. We're inside your soul's core."

"Well, it certainly explains this 'hollow' feeling." She scoffed, slightly shying away from the woman's touch.

"I do not think it's **hollow** , though." Death pulled her close again. "I think it's empty and unused. I think it's forgotten, not broken."

Hela murmured, in acceptance or defiance, and closed her eyes, bathing in Death's tender embrace. She was content to be there, even though the idea of a damaged soul core kept nagging at the very depths of her mind.

But maybe that was all there should be in there, really. She supposed she could fill her core with hopes and dreams, but wouldn't they be just that in the end? Hopes were but survival instincts reimagined by one's feelings for their please and personal benefit. Instincts created from wishes so one could keep moving forward, even thought they knew what a gruesome failure waited on top of the hills. And dreams were but one's impossible wishes, that somehow they still thought could one day end up being true - being real.

So Hela did not held any hope, but she certainly held some dreams. The ones that weren't broken by the sum of all her failures and hollowed feasts, that is. She had told Death just that. And once she had told her mother Frigga, too. She couldn't help but scoff at the irony of their responses. While Frigga all but laughed in her face trough her own 'lady-like' ways, Death embraced her dreams and lent her a hand together with her ears. Maybe that was why she trusted her so much...

It made Hela think about something stupid. She dared not hope, for she knew it was not true and would never be, but she thought, for a second, that if Odin and Asgard were but tales of gods and monsters, she'd be foolish and silly and oh so happy with her ignorance - so happy with herself. She thought that if Death was her mother, maybe things would've turned out so much differently and better - maybe she'd feel safe in her quarters as she felt in Death's bosom. Maybe she'd be her true self, even.

"The history of a soul can never be the same as another's" Death whispered, as she gently pushed the goddess away. "No matter how twin their pasts are or how singular are their goals."

"But..." She continued, as she let herself be stripped away from her robes so she could be as bare as the woman before her. "These twinned singularities..." She took a moment to admire Hela's figure and for her to do the same. "These accidental coincidences..." She pulled the goddess back to the safety of her arms. "And these amplified goals are what bind them together - what break their singularity insignificance to redesign their twinned cores."

"Your past is not beautiful, Hela, and nothing you do or say will ever be able to change it. No matter how guilty of your actions you feel or how much you try and make up for whatever it is you want to be forgiven for, the sands of time won't spill in reverse and undo all that's been. All they'll do is pour faster and faster below, and, if you don't stop to appreciate their descent, our ultimate meeting will come much more sooner than we'd both want."

"So" she continued, touching their foreheads again. "You need to stop living in the past and start to build your present, for as much as your future ever changes, so do your ending results."

"But how can I?" The goddess moved her head so their gazes would lock. "How can I focus on the present when I have nothing to focus on? Asgard is dead, and so is my power source. Everything I've lived for was crushed by Ragnarök. Even Fenris is dead. Where would I live? How would I survive? Why would I even want to survive?"

"Because you still have plenty ahead of you. You still have meaning, Hela, and that meaning isn't something that can be replaced or erased. You shall survive so you can live for once, instead of existing to decorate someone else's shadow."

"And what about **Fenris**?" she continued, her voice as soft as her caressing hands. "Do you think he would want you to give up? Do you think he would want your life to be taken by your own hands? Do you honestly believe Fenris would want anything but happiness for you?"

"There is no happiness for me" she refused with tears sliding down her face. "There never was."

"Oh, but that's were you're wrong, my child" Death chided, as if mocking the very notion. "There's happiness for everyone - sadly even for these who do not deserve it. You do deserve it, though. It's about time you understand that you're not the only one who fights her inner self, and stop blaming yourself for it."

"This" she continued, before the goddess could latch onto the wrong details. "The fact that many share your strive, do not means your suffering should be dismissed. It just means somewhere, someone can relate to your pain. It means that someone can comfort you and make you feel home, even when you're drifting through nothingness in space."

"You..." Hela rasped, the liquids in her face gaining a soft green tint.

"Yes, Hela. I do understand it. Your pain. Your fight. Your loss. I do understand it all."

"Of course I've seen it through the souls of many" she held the brunette by the neck, as if yo kiss her mouth. "But I've also experienced it myself. I've felt it myself, so many years ago. And I did not have anyone to guide me and show me the right way. Nobody dared say I was wrong, and those who did...well, let's say their voices did not echo in my ears."

"That's why I've made many mistakes" Death closed her eyes and inhaled a burdened breath. "My past is marked by mistake after mistake after mistake. And that's part of the reason why I want so much for you to rise - so you won't fall into the same foul pit that I did. And, believe me, Hela, it's always the most unexpected twist of events that make you reconsider what you always thought you knew - what you always thought you understood."

"Sometimes it takes is a bad choice" she continued, opening her moist eyes. "Sometimes all it takes is schizophrenic with a blabbermouth" her eyes filled with mirth. "And sometimes all it takes is a little push in the right direction."

"You said 'no more riddles'." Hela softly smiled. Their gazes never broke.

"Well, I did not say anything about encrypted references, now, did I?" And they both shared a soul-reaching laugh.

"But you must make a choice, Hela" Death continued, after they've both composed themselves. They now sat in the stone stairs that lead to the archaic-looking statues above. "Our time here isn't unlimited, and I feel like you shouldn't waste your time more than you already did by Odin's command."

"I knew this was coming" the goddess breathed, stepping up to sit beside the older woman, who still refused to wear her robes. "What choice do I have to make?"

"Earlier you accepted my invitation of help, but you did not accept what I have to offer, and I wouldn't blame you if you didn't. But know that you don't have two options - you have as many as you can think about. All I'm going to do is make a suggestion or two - but the choice is yours and yours alone."

"It is strange, you know." Hela rested her head on Death's shoulders. "To have a choice at all, I mean."

"I know, child, but you must think about my next words. Then you're free to do whatever it is that your heart desires."

"And what is it you have to say?"

"My past, as I've said, isn't clean and certainly not for the faint of hearts. And I fear that some of my past **transgressions** may come back to haunt the progress I've made so far. What I wish for you is to offer me some support, in case I'm right, and, in return, I'll replace Asgard and will let myself become your **power** **source** for as long as you'll accept me as **yours** and let yourself be my **hope**."

"But" she continued, now crouching in front of Hela and taking hold of both her hands. "Do not think I'm using all that I've done for you to force you into this, nor think that I'm using you in some way. All I do is ask for your help. You're free to say yes and help me around, as you're free to refuse and be on your way to wherever you want. I'd even end you if that's what you desire - as much as the thought implodes my own core."

And Hela did not need to think, for as soon as the floodgates opened in the woman's bony eyes, so did the ones in hers. And, after all, she trusted Death. And maybe, just maybe, she was trusted in return.

And with that Hela dared to hope.

"If I accept your propose..." her voice as broken as her tears. "Will I ever see you again?"

"Is that what you want?" Death's gaze was slightly widened, expectant of her response. Hopeful, perhaps.

"I wouldn't be opposed to the idea." The goddess was able to smirk through her tears, and was slightly surprised by Death's sudden and so very gentle hug. She could feel long nails digging into her shoulders, but she was not opposed to the pain, somehow.

"I'm not very good at this 'feelings' thing. I'm far too new to it than I would like, to be honest. But I promise you I'll try to be there for you, as you say you'll be for me. And I'm a promise for a reason."

"But our time is almost up" they separated and Hela could see the soft light start to escape away from Death's eyes. They stoop up and the woman grabbed her by the shoulders again. This time her hold was much more gentle, though.

"And my answer is 'yes', and I don't plan to change it anytime soon." her voice dripped with conviction for a first since they've meet.

"Thank you, child." Death split her face with one of her warm, gentle smiles.

"Normally" she continued, as if deep in thought, while the lights from her eyes enveloped her whole. "I'd tell you to be cautious of the man whose name surely fits his character. But I doubt he'd be any trouble, considering the... situations."

"What?" Hela blinked a few times. She surely heard that one wrong.

"Goodbye, my dear" she became but light in the dark. "And Hela..." she paused, as if in hesitation.

" **Take care** " she finally said, as light's exploded from her body and swallowed everything in their path, from stone and dirt to flesh and bone.

And that was the last thing Hela saw before her conscience faded away.


	8. There's No Calm Before The Storm

**Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel Comics nor any of it's characters, and/or locations. I do own this plot idea, thought. Oh, and that quote right there? The one from a music? Don't own that one, too. Things suck, I know. But maybe it's for the best, if you get what I mean :v**

 **TW: Mentions of child abuse; parental neglect, depression, suicidal thoughts and self-depreciation. We'll have a lot of cursing ahead, too.**

 **AN1: First of all, I want to thank everyone who reviewed, followed and favourited my work. Hold you guys reeeeeealy deep inside this blackened heart of mine. And you guys who just read it, too. You're all my little darlings 3**

 **AN2: Seems like someone's been away for a little time, huh? xD**

 **Honestly guys, I'm sorry for the inconvenient. The three main reasons as to why I haven't posted in so long are that I was planning this arch's plot, that I was writing that oneshot I told you about...and I was reading SwanQueen stuff :P**

 **Anyway, we're finally moving on to what you've clicked this title for, at least! And maybe something more? Who knows? Certainly not me.**

 **Enjoy the read, my darlings, and don't forget to review S2**

 **PS: Just to make it clear, I started writing it with Ragnarök as cannon material, but everything that comes afterwards isn't gonna be cannon, for obvious reasons. I may incorporate some of those ideas, thought. I bet you guys 'n galls get what I mean if you paid attention to the previous arch.**

 **Arch 2 - Re:Life**

 **Chapter 1: There's No Calm Before The Storm**

" **We would sell anything just to buy who we're not."**

 **Michl - Kill Our Way To Heaven**

There was something wrong about that night - something darker than the lack of sunlight. It wasn't the ever-echoing voice inside her head, though. There was just so much damage her mother's cycling words could cause, to be honest, and this strange thing she was feeling couldn't possibly be their lonely result.

Maybe she was getting sick? Well, she thought she already was, anyway. What else could explain the way she felt? The way she had felt long before she applied to be Jane Foster's first assistant? If she wasn't sick, then what was she?

But this thing inside her; this new feeling that crawled her bones...it was different, in a way. As if the birds that once flew from the palms of her hands were now caged deep beneath her heart. It was almost like her sins were doubled and their repercussions nailed in tow.

Whatever it was, it was enough to take Darcy out of the wannabe comfort of her blankets and into her old blouse and shorts. She grabbed her cap and pocketed a pair of binoculars on her way downstairs.

The windows were all closed, but she could hear the gentle knocks on their wooden borders. They were caused by the soft winds that blew since much earlier hours. The weather forecast said the night would be a calm one, though. It was enough to lay her worries to waste.

She left through the front door, unbothered by it's creaks. She knew her surroundings weren't all that safe so early before sunlight, but they paled if compared to where she lived before. As dangerous as they were, animals would never beat the monsters she was forced to overcome.

The old house was surrounded by so many trees they might as well be called a forest. There were some wooden cabins abandoned here and there amongst the woods, but the closer neighbours lived many miles away.

A small river flowed nearby. Sometimes she'd just put on her earphones and lay down on the soft patch of grass by it's edges and observe the small creatures inside. She once tried to fish some, but patience was a virtue she did not possess.

That was a problem, though. So many were the situations in which her lack of patience put her defenceless in the frontline. She had some luck in the past, and in more than one occasion there was someone else to 'hold her hand', but, when the clock strikes midnight and the real monsters come out of hide, the only company she'd ever have will be the bottomless hole in her heart.

She walked along the dirty roads that lead to a small hill in the woods. Her eyes drank in all the fireflies in the path. They twisted and danced beneath the full moon, as their bodies served as lamps to the forgotten wanderers of the midnight.

The night breeze caressed her skin, and she knew that she was stalling. Not from the path she walked to, but from the thoughts that flew across her mind. She knew there was no way to forget their memories, nor there would ever be a way to retell the feelings they brought, but still she hoped that, someday, somehow, she'd be able to move on from them.

That someday, these feelings wouldn't hurt as deep as the daggers that now seemed to pierce through her core.

A crow cawed in the distance as she climbed the first stones of the cliff, and there was that foreign feeling again. The skies were clear of clouds, and though the winds were cold, they were as soft as the fur from the boots her mother bought her so many years ago.

Yet, something wasn't right. Something sinister seemed to penetrate the cavities of her chest the more she climbed the hill. A chill crawled up her spine with the thought, but she concentrated on her steps, fake-marvelling at the sights that drowned her eyes.

It was probably all in her mind, though. Bad memories hunger for your good feelings and feed you their bloody remains, after all. Days after days have they hurt her deep, but the way she felt now almost brought tears to her eyes.

Tears she couldn't help but feel were not her own.

She climbed up the cliff and sat at it's edge. The breeze rushed back from the trees as her legs dangled below. She let out a puff of air and rubbed her hands a few times. The night was getting colder, but the cold didn't bothered her at all. Not as much as the voices in her head, anyway.

As far as she knew, no 'major' mental illness plagued her mind. The voices were but hauntings from her past - echoes of things she said and heard, that stuck to her brain like a tumour stuck to one's body. Echoes of things she dared not repeat.

She fished the binoculars from her pockets and looked to the horizon. Even thought it was dark, the stars always found ways to appear. Most of them were dead, she knew, but there would always be a trace of their story left behind for someone to appreciate.

Traces of a beauty that transcended lives and long lost evidences. It was the true beauty of one's existence - something no money could ever buy, nor could any looter hope to steal.

It was the beauty of death.

But, at the time, their pasts couldn't captivate her gaze. Not when so many monsters plagued her mind. Not when they squeezed through her walls and gnawed at her core. And, no matter how many time seemed to pass, she always wondered if they'd be back someday - back for her. Who knew how many of them were out there? For all she knew, a true deity could descend from the stars and give them all oblivion at any time.

And what could she do? What could anyone do?

And, if that deity was but an imaginary threat of hers, then what about the monsters that were already there? What about the ones who crawled from their houses with a fucking happy smile on their faces, all the while spreading their diseases to the ones who dared smile back?

Who could ever protect her from them?

She took a deep breath and fell back on the grass. She could hear the small animals running around and feel the winds pick up their speed, but she couldn't bring herself to care. There was a massive void in her chest, and she knew nothing of how to fill it.

The worse part of her truth was that she was the real smiling monster now; always showing a happy fake smile so none would pry - masking her sadness with dumb jokes and hollow silliness every damn time someone looked her in the eye.

Would they be able to see it? She wondered each time. Would they leave her all alone, if they knew? Turn their backs and move away from her, just like the ones before? Would they fix her with glares or would they pierce her with daggers?

She didn't knew. But the mere thought of being forced to learn frightened her to the bone.

A knot formed in her throat as she covered her sewn shut eyes with both her arms. The binoculars fell to the ground, abandoned and forgotten like the brief glimpses in her mind. Glimpses of a time she didn't cared too much; of a time she didn't knew half truths...

Glimpses of a time she didn't suffered as much.

She could feel the first tears gathering beyond her eyelids. They burned her eyes as they trailed down her face, entwining and dissipating like snakes inside their nests. A bitter taste was all they left behind. It stuck to their trails and seemed to impregnate her skin with every shuddering breath she dared take.

Then came the lightning bolt...

It stuck a tree nearby and she sat up so fast her binoculars got kicked down the cliff. The only thing that saved her from the same fate was the small rock in which she placed her feet before. Dark clouds followed the bolt's electric path, spreading through the skies so fast Darcy thought she had hit her head too hard when she laid on the grass.

The winds blew stronger by the second. Their sounds alone sent chills through her very bones as she got up from the ground. Leaves flung past her head and some small sticks almost hit her in the face, but she stood her ground with a fire she did not know to possess.

Suddenly, the clouds descended from the sky and the winds blew them towards the cliff. And the horizon was no more - It was unashamedly swallowed by the thick mist the clouds became, completely disappearing as they swarmed and twisted like a tornado filled to the brim with the most hazardous debris.

It was no puzzle how supernatural the weather was. How she'd climb down the cliff and get back home safe and sound was one hell of a puzzle, though. And it was one she had all the pieces of, yet sadly lacked the time to join them all as one.

The winds began to howl as she gave her best to run down the hill. Her steps were heavy and her legs were shaky, but still she kept her pace, moving devoid of any grace, but overwhelmed by urgency.

The mist sped in tow. It spread across the landscape as if erupted from a volcano's crater, laying waste to everything on it's path. Thunder and lightning decorated the night, equally consumed by the foul phenomenon below as they made their own fall.

When her feet touched the rocks half way down, she knew it was too late. Her vision began to blur as the winds howled in her ears and icy coldness penetrated through her pores. She could feel the mist touch her back and the electricity raise the hairs on the back of her neck, and it took all her willpower not to squirm.

She dared not look back, for she knew what fate approached from behind. It took all but seconds for her heart's drums to reverberate across her mind and it's drilling ache to swallow her whole. There was no escape now.

She was devoured by the storm.

Gusts of wind cut through the skin of her face as the last of the forest disintegrated in the mist. She could feel the warm liquid drip down her left cheek, and could not contain a wince. Her hand pressed against the small cut, as if to stop it's aching reminder, only for her teeth to grind down in pain.

It was but a silly reaction to pain all were familiar with. Nothing but a consequence of one's survival instincts in face of imminent danger. But, when her feet slipped and gravity took hold, she knew what a terrible mistake it truly was.

Her body lost all pretences of equilibrium and crumbled down like a puppet brutally cut from it's strings. She tried to move her hands in front of her face, but her momentum made her body twist away to the wrong side.

All air fled her lungs when she felt her ribs crush against the rocky ground. The pain wormed through her side with hunger borrowed from the lightning that flashed above, and she found herself powerless to halt her merciless descent.

Was that how it was going to end? How pathetic could that be? But maybe it fitted her, at least. To die by her own mistakes, instead of the hands of another...

She wondered how they'd react. Would they cry? Probably. Would they care? Well, then it would be too late. But, deep down, Darcy knew it was already too late, anyway. Even if she somehow survived, the damage they've done would never vanish. After all, the pain they brought was far worse than crushed ribs and sliced cheeks could ever hope to feel.

The scent of mud and dirt assaulted her nose as her body spiralled out of control. She rolled and bawled down the cliff, dirtying herself in earth and blood as her mind fought to remain what it was before.

Her back hit something hard and her vision blurred at once. She could still hear a distant crackling sound, but soon all that was left was the blood that poured through her ears. The last thing she felt was something wet colliding with her face.

And then it was all black.


	9. Ten Thousand Miles To Valhalla

**Disclaimer: Nope, I do not own these awesome characters, locations 'n stuff. They're all Marvel's properties and I don't own any kind of business, too. No trademarks and stuff. And Shinedown is a band that I do not own, too. I own this plot idea, though. Awesome, right? -**

 **TW: Mentions of child abuse; parental neglect, depression, suicidal thoughts and self-depreciation. We'll have a lot of cursing ahead, too. And expect some violence in the far future.**

 **AN: Once more I want to thank you, my dear reviewers 3 your the joy of my life. Together with my coffee, of course, hehe :P**

 **This chapter is bigger than the other ones I've posted here, so I hope you don't mind. This is gonna be a pattern for some parts of the story, and yes, the details are here because they're important.**

 **AN2: By the way, this work has no beta, so, if you are or know of someone who might be interested...I'm all "eyes".**

 **Thanks for your support and I hope you like this new chapter 3**

 **Enjoy ^^**

 **Arch 2 - Re:Life**

 **Chapter 2: Ten Thousand Miles To Valhalla**

" **Seems like I crossed the line again for being nothing more than who I am."**

 **Shinedown - Bully**

Mist haunted her vision as her eyes slowly unclosed. There was a fog in her mind that seemed to devour every single memory she wished to replay, and a merciless beeping inside her ears that almost made her stomach empty itself from whatever it was she ate in the hours before.

Cold overtook her body as if ice-forged daggers penetrated her pores. It dried her eyes and burned her face, and trying to clear her head challenged her memory in a battle of difficulties and wills she honestly didn't knew which side hope to win.

Why was it so cold, anyway? She could swear it's intensity numbed her brain. Perhaps even her soul. Or maybe it was an after effect of waking up damp and frozen and with the sensation of being hit by a truck.

It took some time for her eyes to clear up a little and slightly adjust to wherever she was, and even more for her brain to take in her surroundings as something more than a distant and distorted dream.

The cold came from the droplets of rain that cascaded from above. They drenched her clothes with the mercy of a raging bull, and sent shivers through her bones each time they iced against her ribs. There were no winds, thought. Not even a soft breeze to touch her skin.

She wasn't sure if it made it all better or if it made it all worse.

What happened? She wasn't sure. Fragmented memories kept resurfacing in her mind, but their matches could never be found. Maybe they'd mend when her headache dimmed at little. But that could be wishful thinking, too.

The beeping sound in her ears receded, and she was finally able to think clearly. It surprised her how many facts her fogged mind missed since she woke up. From her back being pressed against protruding solid objects - probably stones - to her neck being positioned in a bizarre angle.

She felt like a chicken thrown away by an electric current. Normally, she'd find the situation way too funny for her own good, but it was hard to be amused when pain raced through her core faster than her thoughts could hope to process it.

She tried to rearrange the position of her neck. A loud crack echoed when she did.

Teeth gritted, she slid her hands across the mud and tried to get up. Her arms gave in and she felt her face embed in the ground. If asked, she'd never be able to pickup which taste worse on her tongue right then: the blood from her slit lips, or the dirt she thankfully didn't swallowed on her fall.

The rain still fell and the cold still hungered for her skin. She knew the more she laid there, the closer she got to the hospital. If anyone would be stupid enough to go to the middle of nowhere to search for any "victims of a supernatural storm, who happen to be alive, but fucks know for how long", that is.

Her hands pulled against the ground. Her right shoulder cracked, but she didn't gave in. She didn't want to think about where she'd end up if she gave up. No neighbour would search for her, and certainly no one would miss her soon enough.

She was finally able to kneel, and, ever so slowly, she was able to stand up, albeit on shaky legs. It was better than laying on the ground and waiting for her death, she supposed. And it wasn't like she was one to bother herself about how "graceful" her moves were, anyway.

Her vision blurred and she took a dizzied step back. She couldn't believe how hard it actually was to maintain the food she ate where it should be, and not spread all over the ground. And she had tasted McDonald's before.

 _One breath._

The hell was she thinking, anyway? She knew there was something wrong about that night, but still she had to go out and "play the reckless girl". Why couldn't she just stay in her bed, warm and safe that blasted storm!?

 _A pause._

Warm? Safe? She'd be in the same fucking situation if she'd stayed home. Maybe even worse. Damn, she'd have much more lucky in a day than in her entire life if her house was still standing!

Two _breaths._

So what? "There was no time to think about what ifs", after all. She just needed to calm down, and get the hell out of the rain. Then she could freak out and search through her head for some "found" memories of her luck.

 _Three breaths._

Her eyes adjusted themselves to the night. They grew wide with perfect synchrony with her mouth's horrified gasp.

"What the fuck?" she couldn't help but breathe out. She knew the storm had being ugly, and not natural at all, and she might have been slightly exaggerating about her house being crushed by it's force, but she couldn't be so sure any more.

She could relate the forest - what was left of it, anyway - to one of two perfect scenarios, and she wasn't particularly happy about either of them. Who would be, when they had to choose between Godzilla taking a walk through the woods and a bloody big bomb exploding right next to their faces?

Trees had fallen down in all directions across the landscape. Some were twisted in ways that, if she didn't knew better, she'd say Godzilla really had his way with them. But the most disturbing sight was the perfect, untouched state of the woods just a little up ahead.

Good news were her house was probably untouched, too. Bad news were that, whatever the hell that storm was, it was directed at something, and she really hoped it wasn't her. She really, really hoped it wasn't her.

Something warm slid down her forehead. She didn't needed to touch to know exactly what it was. Instead, she took in all the damage done to the ground. Holes were dug in random patterns, and she was sure that some of them were made by the abrupt way the trees were probably ripped out of the ground.

A strange high-pitched sound came from her side. It startled her enough that she stumbled on her own legs and had to lean against the remains of a tree to keep her from falling down again. She could hear her heart drum in her ears and threaten to escape her chest, and she was certain that her legs were trembling that much before.

"Fuck!" she exclaimed as she took calming breaths. It was embarrassing how much time she needed to calm herself down, let alone notice that the strange sound came from what she believed to be her phone. It was in pieces, though, and there was no way it should be able to even switch itself on, let alone make that kind of sound.

The hell was wrong with her life!? First aliens, then an alien invasion, then another fucking alien invasion, then a supernatural storm she was now apparently able to remember being hit by last night - was that even last night? - and then a bloody phone who made sounds all across the place, from where it's damnable little pieces where thrown across! The hell would come next? More aliens? Another alien invasion!?

Because of course there would be a "next". There was no way she'd let herself be taken away by a mere rain when she had survived much worse shit.

She took another deep breath, closed her eyes, and again forced herself not to puke. She wasn't sure how many more of those close calls she'd be able to escape, and she honestly had no desire to discover.

Shaky step after shaky step, she approached the destroyed phone, and, the more she walked, the more it's tune blasted, unaware of the sheer impossibility of doing so. At least the music played itself normally, and not in some creepy slowed down shit. If there was something about that whole situation she was thankful for, it was that small fact, of that she was sure. And maybe the fact she wasn't as dead as she could've been, too, of course.

Darcy was almost close enough to see it's lightened screen when she heard a loud crack. The sound echoed amidst the forest's remains, and it's wooden successor made obvious it's ominous intentions.

Luck seemed to be playing in her team - or maybe not exactly -, for as soon as her head turned around, the mud beneath her feet gave in and she fell backwards to the ground. Her back and ribs already hurt before, and, after that, she was certain her butt would hurt, too, but she was thankful that the only thing the tree crushed was her already broken phone. It shut the hell up, at least.

And she couldn't bring herself to keep her laughter at bay.

She smiled, giggled, and laughed so hard her ribs started to hurt, this time not only from than physical damage. And, if anyone was there to hear it, it wouldn't be so hard to realize her laughter lacked anything but mirthless despair. Not when she could hear it herself.

It took her some time to calm down and stand up, and, when she finally did, she wasn't sure if the liquid she could almost taste against her lips leaked from the clouds above, her forehead or her eyes.

The mist still clouded her vision, but, as her eyes danced across the landscape, she knew that she was lost. She had spent much of her free time in the woods to know that, wherever she was, it wasn't close to the cliff she used to sit. And she wasn't about to think how distant she might be of her house.

Her head still hurt, but the pain seemed to tune down from time to time. She wondered if that was why she could remember last night so clearly, when she was unable to hold onto any shattered glimpse not long before.

She could hear a distant clatter of water. It came from the unlucky part of the forest, though, but she was no way near a stable enough mental state to made the decision not to follow it. She knew it was the sound of a river, and, if she was lucky enough, she'd be able to get back to her house with no more supernatural shit.

A deep breath was all she could muster up to mock the very notion of luck favouring her two times in the same lifetime. But, as her legs started to move and her arms to support herself against the trees that were still around - and hopefully wouldn't fall down after being touched -, she knew there was nothing else to do. She had to keep going.

And so she did.

So, maybe following the possible sound of running water wasn't the best of her ideas so far, after all. It wasn't even a matter of finding the bloody thing or not any more, but of penetrating more and more into the devastated section of the forest - the same one that seemed to get worse the more she kept her walk.

While earlier she only found trees and holes to be amiss, now enormous stones were thrown all over the place. Some of them were trapped beneath the bizarre roots that protruded from the ground.

Some mundane thing were mixed in the debris, too. They ranged from tarnished clothes and pieces of paper to broken windows and chunks of wood that were clearly part of a house. She supposed some cabin must've been built on the storm's path. Or maybe it was a piece of her house's wall - who's to know? And was that a hello-kitty watch dangling from a tree branch?

She flinched a little as she supported herself against the same tree it dangled from. Her back was a little better, even though it still hurt to move around. The rain was just as merciless as before, though, and she wasn't sure how much more of it she'd be able to take.

Not much, that's for sure.

What the hell had happened back then, anyway? She kept referring to it as a "storm", but she had no idea what it really was. She might have studied political science, but any half assed high school student should know that clouds weren't supposed to fall down from the skies so fast, not to mention twirl around like a fucking hurricane!

The closer shit she could compare to the "storm" was when that blond asshole suddenly fell down from the skies in New Mex...

Well, shit.

There was zero doubt that it wasn't Thor. He said something about a search and whatnot the last time she saw him. And, all the other times in which he visited after the initial "desert fiasco", there weren't big news about entire landscapes being laid to waste, anyway. Not by his sole arrival, at least.

And, as far as she knew, Loki was dead for some time now. She didn't knew any detail, but Jane said something about a heroic death. It was extremely hard for her to picture the words "Loki" and "heroic" in the same sentence, with no "anti" in between, that is.

But that was probably because she didn't knew him that much, anyway. She had seem him really few times in the past, and none of them was in person. And she knew damn well that there was only too much appearances could give away about someone.

All that made things so much worse for her, though. If something non-earthly had fallen down from the skies, then she was in for a shitload of problems, regardless of which direction she walked to. She just hoped the "new alien invasion" thing wouldn't come _that_ soon...or at all.

Damn it all to hell! She had moved out of city to distance herself from these kind of craps. But she it seemed she was s crap magnet! And she wasn't even talking about love life or some other mundane bullshit normal people worried about. She was talking about fucking aliens!

Was she fated to suffer through such things? All she had wanted was to complete her studies. But then she applied to be Jane's assistant, and everything was fine for some time. Until shit hit the fan in the most colossal way, that is.

There was a sudden pain on her left leg, and she had to rearrange herself against the tree. She pressed her back against it's bark and hissed when they hurt, too. Not nearly as much as when she first woke up, thought.

And then there was that warm feeling spreading through her right hand - the same one she relocated on the tree seconds before. She closed her eyes and took in a heavy breath, just as a dark shiver uprooted from the bottom of her back.

She knew exactly what it was going to be, and exactly where it didn't came from. But to open her eyes and see for herself it's red shape slid down between her fingers made burn a whole new sinister feeling through her core.

Her heart sped up again, and she wondered for a brief second if she'd need to find a doctor for more than physical pains and unhelpful climates. But, if she was being honest with herself, she wouldn't search for one, anyway.

She looked around and saw blood marks all around. They weren't excessive, but they seemed to make a straight directed trail in the woods. One that led farther and farther away from the river she thought she could hear.

Alright, so maybe her past misfortunes didn't hit the fan in _the_ most colossal way. But this was too bad luck even for her own standards. And that was saying a lot more than she would ever be proud to admit.

She knew she should just turn around and flee away from that trail. To follow the river sounds and forget all about the blood on her hand. She knew she should just find a hole and escape from the rain until it was safe enough for her to find a way back home.

And who the hell could ever blame her for running? That was what she always did, anyway. From her mother's words, from Ian and what he represented, from Jane and Erik and all their crazy sci-fi stuff...

But something lured her to follow that trail. It was like she was young again and her father warned her not to open the closet's door, but she did so anyway, because the thrill it gave her was better than being laid down somewhere doing absolute nothings for no reason at all.

She wondered if that was how a moth felt when it's eyes focused on the flame. If they knew nothing good would come out of touching it, but the desire to do so was so overwhelming it shut every single one of their survival instincts.

It was, for her, almost like an upgraded version of reading an "electrified fence" warning and having that stupid impulse to touch it to see if it really worked, even though it's buzzing sound gave out the answers to all questions one's curiosity might ask.

At the time she didn't knew how, nor did she knew why, but the feeling of her back separating from the tree's bark almost felt like cold hands pushed her ahead - urging her to move. It was gone so fast her feet had no time to touch the muddy ground she would have to move onto.

Should she even care, anyway? The reasons why seemed so inconsequential for her back then - as if they held no weight on her decisions, even thought she knew the weight they held ripped jealously out of a ton.

When her legs started moving, she knew she wouldn't turn back. There would be no more river chasing or home seeking for a long time, and certainly no more shitty and desperate ideas for the time being.

It was funny, ironic even, that, after all that crap, she did get what she wanted to begin with: to get away from her home - away from her mother's words. And, as her body shivered through the fog, she hoped her darker desire wouldn't come true, too.

At least not that night.


	10. Mirror, Mirror In My Head

**Disclaimer: As usual, the characters aren't my own, nor are any other elements from this story other than it's plot and craziness. But hey, they're not yours, too, so feel bad with me, buddy. Make sure to check Karliene's fan musics on Youtube, though. Woman surely knows how to sing!**

 **TW: Mentions of child abuse; parental neglect, depression, suicidal thoughts and self-depreciation. We'll have a lot of cursing ahead, too. And expect some violence in the far future.**

 **Chapter Trigger Warning: This chapter is heavier than the previous ones. It deals with feelings and emotions that many of us will identify with, and I do not mean the good kind. So, if you're still struggling with the whole bullshit LGBTQ+ people and anyone else who is slightly different from the "normal standards" suffers nowadays, be warned that you might get emotive, even more so if you understand Darcy is thinking about towards the end.**

 **It won't worse your situation, nor will it worse your pain [or lessen it]. But, if you feel uncomfortable, I understand it if you want to skip this chapter entirely. Just pm me and I can send you a sum of what happens.**

 **And just to make something clear - this story won't enter in subjects as sexual abuse, so don't worry. That would've been the first thing I'd warn you about if it was the case.**

 **Oh, and if you feel like you need help, I'm all ears. But, please, do seek certified professional help. Treat yourself as good as I regard you as, my dears.**

 **And now, I hope you enjoy the read...even though it feels kinda weird to say this haha**

 **And do expect a ratter comic next chapter.**

 **PS: I've completely changed this project's prologue, so, if you want to read the new one, feel free to. I recommend you do so, too, since it contains new events related to the plot.**

 **Arch 2 - Re:Life  
** **Chapter 3: Mirror, Mirror In My Head**

 **" _So look in the mirror and tell me: who do you see? Is it still you, or is it me?_ "  
** **Karliene - Become The Beast**

The scenario around wasn't far from what she thought it'd be. An ominous path in between remains of trees and leaves scattered around hollows and broken stones. Not that far from what she had seen before.

It was different, though. There was something in the air she couldn't put a finger on - something whose name hang down from the tip of her tongue, yet always found ways to resist the fall. And it was exactly what she had felt hours earlier than her mother's call.

The destruction seemed to grow the more her feet took her along the trail. More, bigger holes were dug all around, barks and branches decorated whatever untouched part of the ground they could find. She could even spot some stone protrusions that looked to much like razor sharp fangs for her liking.

But then someone pushed the reset button and, little by little, the destructive process turned back around. She now spotted less fallen trees each step she took, and the mere search for holes proved to be more fruitless each time it was considered.

For a second she wondered if her distance from whatever might've descended from above grew with her footsteps. Maybe she had passed over the crash site but have not noticed it at the time.

She had no idea if it would be a bad thing if she did so.

It didn't took her long to notice nothing about the sudden "recess" was as normal as one might believe. Sure the trees weren't down and the ground was as levelled as forest ground could be, but, when tree branches were ripped off from their core by the lone touch of rain, something was wrong. Something was really wrong.

As another branch crumbled to the dirty mud below, she finally understood what it was that she really felt. It wasn't a deep sadness or an after effect of "not so healthy thoughts surfaced by the incessant struggles of life". Looking at the forest's last breaths, she realized that what she felt was nothing but death.

The landscape looked like a picture taken from a shitty cartoon's scary graveyard. The grass was an unmovable dark green object that rain couldn't - or wouldn't - wet. The trees were empty and twisted inwards as if their bark's weight was too heavy a burden to bare. Even the mist gave up on it's whiter shades to morph into a smoke-grey fog.

The gravestones, though, were replaced by the death flora that seemed to suck every once of light that dared touch it's domains. Illusion or not, there was no way she'd let her hands or feet touch any of it. She'd walk like an old hag if she needed to.

There was no telling what waited ahead, but she knew it was not going to be pleasant. How'd she think of it as anything but, when death reigned as loud as her ears could hear, and much, much deeper than her eyes could hope to see?

Was going back still an option? To turn around, close her eyes and return to wherever it was she'd be able to reach before pneumonia knocked on her door and she became just like what was left of the trees that stalked her from all around...could it be better than following the trail of death through the woods? She did not know. And there was no doubt inside that she was too coward to find out.

And then the blood trail ended, and she knew that the choice was as far from an option as it would ever be.

There was a small crater not that far from were her legs found themselves stone cold stuck. It tore the ground as if it was the scissors for it's paper, unashamedly devouring everything in sight. Another step and it would devour her, too.

The signs of oblivion were everywhere. From the way the mud itself laid drenched with the blood that slid down from the mutilated animal bodies littered all around the cavity's edge to the way some of their insides hanged from the lifeless branches of the tress who, if she didn't knew any better, she'd believe were hollow enough that the rain drops heavily penetrated their barks while they fought against their inevitable fate.

And to think she believed to had felt death before...

Her stomach burned as she quickly averted her eyes and took a dizzy step back. That proved to be a fatal mistake, though, for her vision was filled with the disgusting final touch given by the countless half-dead insects that squirmed all over the crater's higher grounds.

She fell down on her knees and was not able to hold her stomach's contents at bay. She emptied them all beside her, all the while fighting to breathe and trying not to panic. It was probably going to be the only time she would be thankful for the rain in a long, long time, for it's cold grasp forbid her from travelling back in time. Not that there were any certain future opportunities for her to be thankful of it, anyway.

It took her more than a few minutes to recompose herself. Her head felt numb and her vision was blurred as fuck, but air filled her lungs with ease, and that was so much more than she could've wished for, that she wasn't sure if her good luck was a past thing anymore. And what a distorted kind of good luck it would be...

Slowly, ever so mindful of her dizziness, she stood up on her shaky legs. She lured her eyes away from the droplets of rain that washed the acid remains from her clothes, and forced them to the center of the crater.

She expected many things at the bottom of the hole. From the ironically absurd nothingness to the ironically probable presence of a dozen alien babies crawling out of their squishy, disgusting eggs. Hell, she even expected Loki to be there, bathing in the so called "glory of the battle", 'cause, after all, she might not had been sure if the scene could be called a "battle", but the scenario was undoubtedly a battleground.

What she had not expected at all, though, was to find an apparently normal, clothed and as harmed as herself woman laying face up on the muddy ground. She had to double check it just to make sure the vision was no mirage, even though she knew that it certainly was not. It never hurt to be certain - or so they said, anyway.

The woman's hair was dark like scorching coal. It blended almost perfectly underneath the shadows of night, but, so luring it was, it could never hide itself from view. Her skin was haunted - pale like the mist that surrounded them both. And yet it was bled by far from cured scars and devoured by countless burned remains.

Her clothes were but tatters, and, even though they covered her well enough to preserve a vague sense of modesty, their cuts and holes would never be able to keep the rain away or any flicker of warmth tucked within.

There were putrid black marks spread like vines along the woman's body. They came forth from the shadows that covered her closed eyes - the same shadows whose origins Darcy held no knowledge about. But, where they natural or where they made, they surely as hell looked far, far away from being any sort of good willed aid. They infested much more her left arm, though. It laid twisted in all the wrong angles, from all the wrong sides.

Bizarre was the fact that, even though all her eyes could see was the tarnished leftovers of a female being, Darcy never once took her as a corpse. For some disturbingly absent reason, her mind's eye was blind to the severity of the damage her solid ones perceived.

For her, the woman was the sole captive of a deep unreachable dream, forever kept in lands her thoughts couldn't even conceive. For her, the woman was asleep. Maybe suffering through the hardships of a coma, even. But dead? That she was certainly not.

She had thought her leg's weakness was due to how dizzy and shaken she felt since she woke up after the storm. But, as her vision blurred out of nowhere and her legs almost gave in on themselves, she didn't felt so sure anymore.

There were a few other possibilities, of course, but it needed no genius to figure out how bad they were. Had she pissed of some god in the past, or something? She was honestly looking out for herself when she tasered Thor in New Mexico!

Not that her bad luck began afterwards, anyway...

And there it was again: that strange pull that always caught her by surprise and stole her from her own thoughts, all the while feeding an equally bizarre impulse of driving herself forward - maybe of following something, even.

Her own feet moved by their sole will and she found herself in the middle of a tired walk down the crater. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the woman's frame this time, though. It wasn't that she was a goddess in person or something. She just felt something strange crawl all over herself, and she had no idea how to explain it.

She knew, thought, that it wasn't that feeling alone that burned in her core. She could still feel the wicked perfume of death through her nostrils, and it still made her body hair wish to jump away from her skin...but it was combined with that new, intoxicating lure feeling the woman's mere presence seemed to irradiate her with. It was a feeling of belonging - of coming home after a lifelong journey she was absolutely exhausted of adventuring.

 _Her eyes blinked._

Was that what made her follow the trail in the first place? Could it be that the woman was her lure, and not the blood trail she decided not to run away from? And if it was here, why would that be the case? She didn't knew if to hope it wasn't some pheromone shit, or to hope it was, giving how disturbing other theories could end up to be.

There were no "hands" on her back this time, though. If they had even been there before, anyway. She knew it was just the rain touching her skin, but it gave her something to root herself into in case things went as FUBAR as they used to went for her in those situations. It felt better lift the blame from her shoulders and put it into someone else's, than to bare it's full weight alone, after all.

The truth was her legs moved by her own will. There were no "hands" or "temptations" or any other bullshit around. There was no little devil sitting on her shoulders telling her were to go or who to seek. It was all her.

But who could blame her for wanting to alleviate the weight of her actions, when people did so by the masses on a daily basis? At least her blame-sharing didn't hurt innocent people like theirs did. So shouldn't she be better seen than them? Weren't her motives less spiteful than theirs? Wasn't she bet-

 _And her eyes opened._

She found herself scanty meters away from the woman. So drowned she was in her thoughts that she didn't noticed her feet moved along to their echoed reminders. Wasn't their weakness a serious concern of hers not two minutes ago? Did she even took two minutes to get there?

The woman's legs extended themselves away from where Darcy's eyes captured her shape, thus she saw her face from the opposite angle it was supposed to be seen from. She didn't felt a need to meet her face-to-face, though. Could it possibly mean that she wasn't lured by her face, but by her whole?

The fact that the same woman was the cause of all the destruction around shouldn't had escaped her mind for so long, though. And maybe that was why when it finally shone through her mind, so did all the volatile feelings the previous night's events carved all along the walls of her heart.

She couldn't help but grit her teeth. That damnable brunette was at fault for her night being so fucking screwed over, for fucks sake! Of all the places she could've made her "grand entrance" at, she had to choose the same bloody cliff she decided to chill off on!? How probable that kinda shit was, anyway!?

She forced out a shaky breath through her nostrils and put her feet back to good use. Her eyes fixed on the other female's face and all her annoyed frustrations seemed to double their weight at once. She wasn't aware when her hands closed to fists, but, by the way it hurt her palms, she guessed it had been going on for a little while.

Suddenly, her left foot entrapped itself with the remains of a wolf and she stumbled ahead. She had no time to wonder about what exactly it had tangled with, but later she'd come to realize some things were better left unknown.

She slipped on the mud she walked upon, and gravity gave it's unforgiving blessings for her nasty fall. Her arms came up fast to hold her away from the ground, and she was absolutely sure she had just used her last bit of good luck, for as shaken and bruised as they were, they were still able to support the weight of her whole confused self.

It took her little more than a second to rewire her brain an realize her face hung upside down from the woman's own. She watched the rain drops that snaked down her own face, and marvelled in the way they fell down to the brunette's - the way they travelled down her eyes as if they were but tears drowned by the natural showers from high above.

So close their faces were, Darcy could see the slight and delicate way the woman opened her mouth to take in some of the weaker breaths she had ever seen. She was sure that, if only her eyes would left the other's face, she'd be able to observe the rise and fall of her chest, too.

Their eyes were at the same level, and even though they held themselves in the opposite angle from their equals, there was no mistaking the shared pain that crawled along each centimetre of their features.

Was that the woman who cause her so many troubles? The one who single handedly fucked her night and probably broke her at least one of her ribs? The same damn one who quite probably destroyed someone else's houses?

They both must had looked so pathetic laid there on the mud, she knew. And it made it all worse to conciliate the destruction all around them to the fragile female in front of her eyes. Her skin was just too soft, and her features too pained...why couldn't she be just like everyone else, and wear those snobby "holier than thou" expressions? Why did she had to make things worse for her?

 _So uncaring of other people's feelings..._

What the hell did she wanted, anyway!? What could've been so important that she found herself in the rights to descent from the clouds in a bloody cloud of doom and fuck up every stupid thing about her already shitty night, anyway!?

Her nails dug fiercely in the ground. She could feel small filthy pieces of mud get stuck beneath them as her fingers reached deeper and deeper in the dirt, as if it was her real offender, instead of the one whose frame owned her eyes.

She should just get up and leave her right there, to be found by the same animals she feasted on during her landing. _It's not like anyone else would know..._ She surely deserved it after everything she did! And who could ever hope to blame her for doing so, anyway?

That damnable piece of land had few houses and even fewer neighbours. She knew the chances of someone ever finding out about the woman - finding out about herself - weren't that higher than zero. It was already bad luck enough that she herself found her there. If it wasn't for that damnable lure!

 _Why did you had to be so selfish?_

She saw a new liquid leak from beneath the woman's closed eyelids. It stood out amongst the falling waters, as if to glare all it's suppressed sorrow into the skies' own eyes - into _**her**_ own eyes. She saw black, bruised lips slowly drift apart, and, up to the day her last lungful of air leaves her lungs, Darcy would swear that, in that one moment, she was able to hear two simple, yet massively burdened words: _**I'm sorry**_ _._

Suddenly, the rain dried it's roots, the sounds deafened their echoes and her wide-eyed vision morphed into the black and white picture of a closed door. There were cobwebs and blood-drained insects all along it's dirty wooden frames, and, if she drifted her eyes to it's handle, she knew she'd be faced by a big, crawly spider.

An infernal chant of incoherent screams echoed inside her mind, and she lifted a hand to cup one of her ears. Her weight shifted and her other arm trembled, but all she cared about was to make those voices shut up - all she wanted was to make them stop!

 _Why can't you understand!?_

Her eyes felt heavy and her vision flickered to and from the door and the woman's face. It blurred and glistered, but there was no way she would ever be able to understand the exact reason why.

 _What did you do this time!?_

Was she crying? Were the screams just too loud? Had rain drops infiltrated her eyes? Was that why they burned? Or maybe she was getting sick faster than she believed she would? It all didn't mattered, for neither of these questions were registered by her brain, anyway - it gave it's all just so her head wouldn't explode.

 _Why is it always you!?_

 _Why can't you be normal like everyone else!?_

She had promised, hadn't she? She had promised not to be his lookalike. Then why did all her actions, all her words and even her fucking thoughts felt like perfect copycats of every bloody thing his image stood for?

 _You are sick!_

She had vowed not to be that way. To follow her own path instead of travelling through distorted trails made by equally distorted assholes who knew nothing about anything other than how fat their hypocrite egos could grow to be.

 _It hurts me more than it hurts you..._

She wasn't like that, was she? There was no way, right? She couldn't be like that. She couldn't be like them! Because, if she was, then everything would've been for nothing. Then all her long nights and short days would've been for zilch!

She couldn't bare that.

Her head hurt and she wanted to scream, but it seemed that as much strength she seemed to put behind her will, it wasn't nearly enough to expel but air from her lungs. Her mouth hung open and dry and her eyes were swelled up by unshed tears, and everything felt so much heavier than before...

She felt herself drop down beside the woman on the ground. Mud and dirt once more stained her face, but, as her arms succumbed to numbness, she realized they were not worth the effort of being removed.

She wouldn't be him. She refused to let herself be drown by his "teachings". It was a hard, almost impossible battle, but it was one she knew loosing was not a viable option. To lose that battle was to lose herself, and to lose herself was to be like him.

And now she knew what she had to do to prove that she wasn't him. To prove herself that she was who she believed to be - who she knew to be -, and not some weak hatchling who lost it's way. And, if the ultimate result of her efforts were to be her own doom...then so be it. At least she would have tried - at least she wouldn't be one of them.

Raw pain shot through her head again. It made her vision darken and her world spin on it's axis like a washing machine, but she knew she had to fight it, too. She knew she couldn't let her tiredness swallow her whole. Not when the first step of freedom laid so unbelievably close.

She would prove them all. She would prove to her relatives, to her friends, to herself and she would prove it all to him, too. That she wasn't his. And all it would take was to swallow her stupid pride for once and do something nice for a change.

So, she forced her hand up and touched the woman's cheek. She never thought that such a simple thing would take s much out of her. It was insane how hard it was just to snake her fingers further to turn the brunette's head around to face her own.

It was ratter ironic and so damn foreseeable that, on the first time she held one of the answers she had hoped both to the stars above and to the darkness below to uncover, she would be utterly helpless to seek it's completion.

But she still could make an effort to slid her fingers and clean the dirt from the other's face. She still could crawl ahead and shield her head from the storm for the price of her own. And she still could hope, that, for once, it would be enough, even though she knew damn well that it was not.

Funny how it took such painful memories for her to realize just how much her frustrations turned her into those whose believes she had always been harmed by. She felt repulse for herself far stronger than any injury could ever hope to inflict her with. How could she let herself fall to his ways? How could she wage wars against those beliefs, when they were the same ones that drowned her when her emotions burned to bright to gaze?

She looked at the woman's closed eyes as her wet hair flowed down to to touch her cheeks. She had come so close to hurting her - to abandoning her...she had wasted so much time with petty thoughts and selfish desires, that she had lost the one and probably only chance she'd ever have to be who she claimed to be.

"I know those words were not for me..." She was scared by how alien and sad it was to hear the sound of her own dry voice. "And I know that all of this was not meant for me, but..." She had to take a breath and reign over her urge to cough before she was able to continue. "Thank you..."

She needed to get up. She had to get up! She had gone so far...she had fought so hard; she couldn't let herself give up! She couldn't let her true self be but a single glimpse drifting through memories she didn't knew if she'd ever have the time to rekindle.

But her body felt too numb. Her limbs felt like giant useless appendages that only served as ways of keeping her down to earth and underground. Why did everything had to feel so damn heavy? What did her strength had to fail her just when she needed it the most!?

She just needed to stay awake a little more. To drag the woman by the legs if needed be, and crawl out of that damn crater with her, and then...and then;

And then her eyes closed.


	11. Fragile Minds

" _Yeah, I know what you're thinking. 'Oh, have I read the wrong line!? Is this the author's note that I unashamedly skip every single time!? The hell? Is he talking to me!? Well, you'll be glad to know that it is...not, but yes, I am."_

" _If you are not familiarized with the handsome ME, then I suggest you go home - Earth is already full enough as it is, thank you very much. If you are, well, just sit back and enjoy, will ya?"_

" _A.n.y.w.a.y - if we're to continue last week's chapter, we'll have to discontinue it first. And by that I mean going back to what is really important - my dream of being Hokage...or maybe that particular phone call?"_

" _Oh, and be sure to check the disclaimers and comments at the end of the chapter, will ya?"_

 **Arch 2 - Re:Life  
** **Chapter 4: Fragile Minds**

" _ **Please don't come for me - I promise I'll be great. Just let me keep what's mine. Please don't come for me, but if you must, then please wait - let me have some time.**_ **"  
** **Larkin Poe - Mad As a Hatter**

 _Several hours earlier..._

His body was still wet and warm from the shower. Small droplets of water descended his back and slowly fell to the bathroom's carpet. He took his time to go to the towel and wrap it around his body. To be honest, he wasn't so worried about wetting a floor that wasn't even his to begin with.

His phone rang. It was on a table in the hotel's bedroom. For a moment, he bopped his head and swung his body around in a little dance. He really liked that tune. It reminded him of the old days - back when he didn't had to hide his face in public harder than a fat man hides his scrotum while crossing a playground.

He tried to move there fast. Even thought week's decisions weren't one-sided, there was no denying the surge of hope that crawled over his heart. But he stepped on his towel and almost hit his forehead on the table's corner.

" _Wait, wait, wait, wait! Who am I, Isabella Swan?"_

He stumbled all the way up from the floor and put the phone against his ears. And waited.

"Hello?" Asked an uncertain female voice that was most definitely not hers.

"Hi." Was his sole answer. Did the woman notice his disappointment? He hoped so.

"Is this...Deadpool's number?"

"Yes" Darn! He had answered in autopilot! He had to review some of his secretive phone speaks later. Maybe something more like 'who wants to know?' or 'the real question is, is this your phone number calling what you suppose to be Deadpool's number?' would've been better.

"...And are you?" she asked, breaking him of his odd reveries.

"Am I what?" His towel slipped off and Satan curses whatever retard had left that window half-closed. His butt would be very thankful, that's for sure.

"Are you Deadpool or not!?" She was clearly irritated. Strange. He hadn't even done anything yet.

"It would've been so much easier for us all if you had just began with that one, wouldn't it? I'm Deadpool, by the way." Shit! "How did you get my number, again?" Maybe she wouldn't notice.

"Look" she breathed out. He could hear some static on the background. "I wouldn't be calling if it wasn't an emergency, okay? I need you to find my friend. She's been missing for some time now, and my...friend - my other friend - told me you're the closer one who'd be able to help me out."

" _From Isabella to Emma, it seemed..."_

"Alright" he dragged the word as he sat down on his bed. Yep - still cold. "So, your 'other friend' happened to mention to you something about a reward, perhaps? Some 'bufunfa', maybe?"

"Just find her, and I'll give you enough money to get you out of the streets for years, alright!?" And there was that chipping sound again. Maybe she was inside a tunnel or something? Wait, did she just say 'streets?'. He might've been homeless, but he wasn't homeless...well, he was, but he had money not to live on the streets...for a little while, maybe?

"That sounds interesting, 'mysterious voice number three'." He wasn't about to think too hard about the first two. Least they decide to manifest themselves. "Now, who do I need to find, again?"

"Her name is Darcy Lewis. She was supposed to call me yesterday, but her cellphone has been shut for days now, and I just can't take any chances, at the moment?"

"Look, lady, your friend is probably chilling somewhere. It's almost ten, and I want to sleep soon, very soon. Why not call the police or something?"

"I can't, okay? Just find her and take her somewhere safe, and I'll keep 'them' out of your back." Them? The hell was she even talking about? Francis bill payers, maybe? "I'm sending you a photo of her."

"Okay, okay" he whined like a defeated child. "But you better make it worth my time, lady."

"The last time I spoke to her, she was at her house." And she ignored him exactly like a parent normally does. "It's in Lilies Breath's Wood. It's not far from the city you're in right now."

" _And they say 'X-force' couldn't be a bigger copyright target."_

"I gotta go now" she seemed in a hurry. Everything in the last few minutes seemed quite hurried, to be honest. "I'll call you."

"Hey, wait!" He gripped the phone harder and jumped from the bed. "How did you know all that? How did you got my numb-" and his speech was cut by the phone call being hung up on his face.

"What the?" He looked at the phone's screen and even gave himself the trouble of turning it around a few times, but the end result was still the same. In frustration, he squeezed the phone and threw it on the bed. It jumped high in the air, though, and he only had time to grimace as it flew right out the half open window.

"Well...they do say everything in life is figureoutable."

Oh, who was he kidding!? He had pretty much just fucked up any slight chance he had of finding the damnable girl. Or maybe of recognising her, at least! Wasn't "rage episodes" another one of the motives of their relationship's curtain call, anyway?

Too much had happened too soon, and he wasn't even talking just about the past few days. Not long ago he was just a badass guy who chased down not-so-badass douches for money. And then he had cancer, and all that shit had hit the fan and spiralled out of control right down his throat.

He preferred not to dwell on his actions anymore, grabbed his fallen towel and went back to the bathroom. He dried himself absent-mindedly, as he considered possible ways of finding the girl. He knew for almost sure she was no kid, so it narrowed things down a bit.

He soon found himself back back at his bed's side. The only viable option he had was to try and find the girl regardless of the odds. If he did find her, he'd be paid. If he did not, well, he didn't got paid. His night was already ruined, anyway.

He took a small briefcase from beneath the bed's cushions. It had his red uniform inside: the perfect way of reassuming his "solo mode" for a while. He just hoped the other guys wouldn't be offended or something. It wasn't personal. He was sure the X-men didn't used their uniforms to go buy candy at the mall...or maybe they weren't the best examples for his line of thought.

"Time to make pope poop in the forest." He said, as he rubbed his hands together consiprationally. It wasn't too much for dramatics, though. The breeze was touching him in places he didn't even knew he had before.

If there was one thing he would really miss from his old place was his personal "driver". The guy was completely bananas! Not to mention that he was indeed very good at driving through some nasty shootings. The fact that he shitted his pants all the bloody time was but a minimal detail, really. Even when it smelled.

That and the watch he had lost somewhere when he first arrived in town, actually. He had spent so many hours just sitting there and admiring his most prized and overpriced acquisition, and yet he had lost it! It had even survived through all that Weapon-X bullshit. And it was a collector's edition, too!

What irritated him the most though was how long it took him to break through that damnable car's window. Conveniently enough, it's keys were left inside. Heck, maybe he was doing the owner a favour. No one that dumb could possibly be a safe driver, after all.

He suddenly realized that he was almost where he was supposed to be, and still had zero idea about who he was looking for and how he would even begin to find the unfortunate creature. It was quite frustrating, if he was being honest with himself.

Hopefully he would find the girl in the middle of the woods, laid down peacefully and waiting for him to take her back home. That kind of crap seemed to happen all the time in those comic stuff he had read sometime ago, albeit in "original and quite different ways".

The dark clouds, the mist and the rain seemed to have other plans, though. They completely obscured his view from anything ahead. It was a wonder he hadn't hit someone or something else already. He felt like the main character from a fifty's old horror movie.

That damnable storm had literally came out of nowhere a few hours earlier. It was quite spooky and looked as natural as Paris Hilton's hair, too. And that was saying quite a lot.

He should've known such a generous offer wouldn't come from an easy job. It was how the prospect of rewards itself worked, after all: bigger challenges, bigger prizes. The actual problem was that his challenge couldn't be completed by himself, and he was not sure about how much life was still left inside his counterpart's body. Hopefully enough.

And the woman in the phone had said something about her friend being "safe", or some bullshit like that. As if it was entirely up to him! He wasn't a damnable priest! He couldn't heal anyone else - nor could he even heal himself, either: his body did it on autopilot. One doesn't simply gets brutally tortured and sprouts some overpowered ninja skills out of their anus, after all.

If he really stopped to think about it, though, he had absolutely no idea how the hell he was even able to do what he was. It was no secret that Francis and Marilyn Manson's genderbent version would've never let him become as curable as he had became without a mean to control it for their own shady schemes.

Maybe they just didn't had the time?

Worse part was his babysitting halo insisted to glow above his head ever since that Cable incident. And it was not cool, man. Not cool at all. Of course he had thought about fathering someone many, many years before when he sat on the toilet - but being a hired babysitter for grown-up anvils was far from his mind at the time. Not to mention a hired babysitter for a grown-up and quite disappeared female.

His foot crashed down suddenly. It pressed on the car's brakes with all hit's might. His ears could hear the whistle of tires midst the rain outside, but his sole attention was focused at the fallen tree in the middle of the road.

His efforts were all in vain, though, for the car hit it head on, and his body was thrown outside the window without an once of mercy. He could swear he had heard his own voice echo the same curse word multiple times inside his head. But it might've been just the glass tearing away at his eardrums.

His back hit against the bark of another tree. Hard. His vision blurred and he was only slightly aware of how painful his fall were. There it was! He was about to finally have his "dramatic blackout" moment!

"Wade..." An unknown voice echoed in his head. He thought he was free from it! Maybe Vanessa was right, after all. Maybe he was crazy - or at least a little feet away from it's gripe. He had yet to know of someone who heard voices inside their heads and wasn't bananas - or maybe not anyone who spoke inside other people's heads and wasn't.

If he would be honest with himself, that strange female voice was one of the reasons as to why they broke up in the first place, even though not such a major one. His girlfriend had not said it out loud, of course - he was sure she would never intentionally hurt his feelings like that. But the fact was still there - loud and clear in his head.

It had all began when the Frankenstein couple decided to make him their "super slave" - and miserably failed -, by the way. Or at least it was during the same period of time. But, then again, which other major events could had happened by then to completely screw up with his head?

Sadly, that was not the time for a nap, nor the place for any bombastic revelations abut the voices which plagued his mind, and so he just got up and stretched a little bit. The bones on his shoulders popped and he had to grit his teeth. Whoever wanted to have "superpowers" should definitely read their license agreement. Regeneration was awesome, but he wasn't into _that_ stuff.

" _Let it be said, though, that I do not believe any of you nerds would actually want to give up on the chance of being bitten by a super-spider. Not until you started throwing webs out of your balloon knots and twatwaffles, that is. If you lived enough to experience it, I mean."_

He was very thankful for his boots. He knew it wouldn't be pretty if he were to step on mud wearing a pair of slippers. Which didn't meant he wouldn't try it out at a later date. Purely for the sake of science and the well being of every citizen of the world - and of America, of course.

All he needed to do then was to find the damnable girl whose picture he had never seen. He might not know about a lot of the whole religious "truth" thing. But in that single moment, he was sure that, if God indeed created the world, the damn asshole was a complete failure with UI design! Where was the eye built-in tracking system!?

He did knew her name, though. He supposed every journey had to begin somewhere, after all. That first push could be the first step out of one's door, a bird's first flight, or maybe even the completely atrocious first sight of a noseless weirdo who couldn't even successfully invade a feeble school.

So...maybe if he called her name high enough she'd listen and scream back? Nah, that wouldn't do at all. How could she scream his name back, if she didn't knew his name? He wasn't about to go screaming his name out loud like a fool, lest he'd mistake a "w" for a "s" and be sued by copyright infringement.

"Find her..." Again the whisper.

He could call a random mother, too. They seemed to know where everything was all the fucking time. If he didn't knew any better, he'd say they just left stuff around for them to seem like a super duper tracking robot when they finally picked it back up.

His gaze slid away from the fallen tree to the surrounding landscape, and a puff of air left his lungs. It seemed that he could just follow the quite obvious trail of destruction left behind by cockscycles know what, which, conveniently enough, led to a very specific area of the forest. And he could do all that while he blatantly ignored any voices that could possibly be inside his head, too.

"Talk about killing two ants with a single piss jet" he chuckled to himself, as his mind found itself assaulted by things that were better left untold.

It took him much more time than he'd like to admit to reach the trail's end. For the mass destruction he'd seen at first, he thought it couldn't be that long. When big, heavy things fall, they don't usually race around their crashing site - they dug right in!

There was a big, big hole at it's end, though. But it could never had been made by what laid inside it; nor by "who". He was quite sure two quite young looking females would've been completely crushed by such a fall.

But, then again, maybe the two woman hadn't been pulled down by Earth's gravity - at least not from very high above. The strange dark marks that littered all around the place gave him pause, though. Maybe they were messing up with things they shouldn't, and they just happened to blow up in their faces? The marks certainly didn't looked like a lightning bolt's aftermath. It happened much more than people seemed to think.

He took a small moment to ponder the best way to descent the hole, and used all the gracefulness of a rampaging bull to run down it's edges. The women smelled like dead animal's remains - and the scent must had been really strong for the heavy rain not to be able to wash it away. It smelled almost like Colossus' shoes... but maybe not _that_ bad.

" _Believe me, you don't want to know how, nor why I knew how they smelled like."_

And the big question of the whole millennia stared right at his face: who the hell was Darcy Lewis!? The hell would he even know which one of them was her, or if any of them were even the right girl, to begin "which"!?

He hoped he wouldn't break much more of his super-important-but-not-quite-as-super-expensive things lately. They were really hard to come by, due to his life style. And when they weren't hard to find, they surely gave him a major headache to be dealt with.

Careful not to wake them - as if he needed to be - he searched their clothes for documents, names, or any bloody thing that could help. Or at least he searched one of them, for the other wore but tatters, and he was quite sure nothing could be used to store stuff on their remains. They were having a hard job to store what they were supposed to store in the first place!

Not that he was in any position to badmouth her choice of wardrobe, though. He was sure there weren't many who wore a "ninja spiderman" suit for work. And it was really not his fault that it suited him so bloody well, too. He had no need for a wannabe dad to give him his suit, at least.

Was was important, though, was that all he found by the end of his search was a couple of chewing gums he unashamedly helped himself to and some white pills he decided not to mess with.

Where the hell was the voice in his head when he needed a little advice, anyway? Was it just a haunting hell-bent on screwing things over for him? It was surely doing one hell of a job was that the case.

A long, sad breath escaped his lips as he considered the ill fate ahead. Maybe breaking his phone wasn't such a bad thing, after all. Who knows how many more creepy weirdos he'd had to look for if it was still intact? Money be damned - that would suck!

He couldn't leave one of them behind, nor could he leave both, though. It was just the same as giving up on his whole goal and making the past hours utterly worthless, not to mention tiring and irritating. He couldn't have that. Plus, he kinda needed a distraction from all the real ghosts, and failing another thing wouldn't be a good one, that's for sure.

If only he knew how to turn his hair into a powerful spiky yellow or to fly around like a man who wears his diapers above his pants, he wouldn't be into such a dilemma!

He need to think - and to think fast. He could be a light-headed, probably crazy fool, but he did knew those women wouldn't last long in the rain. Not to mention he had no idea what the hell had truly happened to the woods, and it could come back to bite them all in the ass at any minute.

To cover them with something nice would be a good idea, but his backpack was back in the car, and covering them with anything but dry clothes wasn't going to better their situation at all, and his uniform would definitively speed-up their impending doom.

He looked around for anything that could help, and his eyes zeroed in a really bad smelling "natural rope" It prompted him to make a quite dumb decision that his back would soon come to hate him for: he, after a long series of trial and error, bound one of the females to his back in a totally screwed up piggy back position. He then used his arms to carry the other female, instead of holding the first one's legs.

It'd be the century's worst pleonasm to say the journey up the crater wasn't an easy or pleasant one. He could feel his back muscles protest here and there, and he was only faintly aware how utterly fruitless it would all be for him if neither of them was the girl he was looking for. It would be even worse than the time he tried to sell a pineapple to a deaf blind man.

"Remember..." Whispered the voice from before. It certainly didn't expect him to accept it back after the most disregarding abandonment he had just suffered by it's "soundy" hands.

He climbed the rest of the hole and put his feet to good use. As he walked back the way he had trailed forth, he hoped the car still worked well enough to get them all away from the woods. He could just crash into some wooden cabin or travel right back to the hotel - he didn't care, as long as they lived.

For the bright side, maybe karma would smile upon him a little bit after his utterly greedy, yet quite altruistic actions. It was not like he was saving a cruel tyrant or something...

 **Disclaimer: If you thought I was going to say that I own nothing here but my own plot ideas...you're absolutely correct! Plus, I just saw that "Re:Life" is an actual anime [Japanese animation], so I don't own any copyrights of that one, too. It is quite a great story, by the way, so, if you like some romantic stuff that's very out of the ordinary, be sure to check it out.**

 **TW: Mentions of child abuse; parental neglect, depression, suicidal thoughts, self-depreciation and mental illness. We'll have a lot of cursing ahead, too. And expect some violence in the far future.**

 **AN: In my defence, it was supposed to be more humoured than this...oh, well.**

 **Now, for my dear readers who are wondering "what the fuck did I just read!?", I'd like to tell ya that was the exactly reaction I was hoping to get outta you xD**

 **But, don't worry, I'm gonna explain "what the hell is Deadpool doing in this fanfiction!?". It is simple, really. You haven't read the comics, so know that our dear Wade is much more relevant than you might think in the stories that are to come. They had to adapt plenty of stuff in a different way for the MCU doe to copyright [and other miscellanea], so that part was excluded. This same part, though, is quite relevant for this story, and so I won't pretend it never happened.**

 **I won't give you spoilers from the comics, but let it be said that Deadpool, Death and MCU's first decent villain adaptation are part of an...interesting plot. They're all related in some ways [and I don't mean the parental one].**

 **Anyway, do not worry - Deadpool isn't going to be a POV character too soon, and we'll be back to our normality the next chapter.**

 **Trivia: I took this long to post this chapter, for I was trying to recreate what I believed to be Deadpool's attention span [at least for a while]. He has mental illness, too, so I would write a bit in one day, and would wait until it all made no more sense to me until I'd write the next stuff one or two days later. I even changed the text formatting to give an extra detail.**

 **I was kinda doubtful about making Deadpool break the fourth wall or not [speak to the public - in this case, the readers], but it would be really hypocritical of me to exclude it, when I point fingers at Marvel for making Hela so underrated in the movieverse.**

 **Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and if not...well, shit happens. Worry not, though, for next chapter is already on the makings and is back to our dear ladies - the real reason why we're all here, by the way.**

 **PS: If you haven't read it already, the prologue was rewritten a few days ago. I informed that in an edited version of last week's chapter. Make sure to check it out :P**


	12. Shattered

**Arch 2 - Re:Life  
** **Chapter 5: Shattered** **  
**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but my plot ideas. And yes, Re:Life is an actual anime name, which I do not own.**

 **TW: Mentions of child abuse; parental neglect, depression, suicidal thoughts, self-depreciation, mental illness and violence. Plus, quite some cursing.**

 **AN: First of all, sorry for the long wait. As for a second...damn you guys, thank you so much for the almost two thousand and a half views! Thank you all for following and favouriting this work! And a big thank you for everyone who reviewed, specially you, PhoenixGod95, my dear reviewer!**

 **Also, it was brought to my attention that the last chapters were quite "still" and "boring". I want to say it was the effect they should have, yep. They are all about what those characters are feeling, instead of doing. Believe me, it all counts for what I've planned.**

 **Plus, rest assured there will be plenty more action ahead - and I do not mean a car jumping over a car that's already jumping over a car kind of action.**

 **PS: When I said Deadpool wasn't going to be a POV character anymore, I just meant that. He'll still be part of this story - an important part. But I don't have any more chapters in which he's the main character planned for this one.**

 **PPS: I have not forgotten about the oneshot I was going to post. I was waiting for Infinity War to decide on what direction I wanted it to drive to.**

 **Anyway, I hope you guys like this new chapter, and be prepared for things to start moving on from here.**

" _ **I tried so hard, and got so far. But, in the end, it doesn't even matter."**_

 _ **Linkin Park - In The End  
**_ _ **In memory of Chester Charles Bennington, vocalist of Linkin Park**_

Her eyes opened by their own volition, but it was her own will who closed them after massive white lights blinded her vision. The fear of damage nagged at her mind, but it was somewhat dulled by the growing headache she endured.

She took a while to recompose herself and open then back, only to stare at an unfamiliar beige roof. Her mind overflew itself with memories she couldn't begin to comprehend. She wasn't sure how many of them were blurred by the pain, nor how many were simply absent.

The corners of her vision glowed as if tiny bubbles framed it's whole length. They stung and scratched from behind her eyeballs, and she had to force herself to blink a few more times. It was ironic how dry her eyes felt in comparison, though.

Where the hell was she, anyway? She couldn't see much more than a flew blurs and glows, but the roof was just too different: there were strange spiral-like carvings along it's self, a small yet uncomfortably strong lamp hanged itself from somewhere to her right, and there were black markings everywhere...though they could've been results of her damaged vision.

It was not her home. But, then again, could she really compare a strange place to a place she never were to? A place she never knew? It would be all technically the same after all were done and considered, wouldn't it? Was there any difference between something new and something never seen before? If there was, she honestly couldn't had named it if her life depended on it.

Absolute regardless of her inner conflicts stood a big and dangerous question: where were she? Better yet: what the bloody fuck had happened, anyway? All her memories were dazzled - shady glimpses at best. They made no sense whatsoever.

She hadn't felt so insecure, fragile and meek since-

Her eyes zeroed on the sudden movement to her right - just a bit lower than the lamp. The angle made it impossible for her to identify it's whole source, but she found out the walls were just as familiar to her as the celling above.

But she was just too exhausted to move. Her body was ablaze and freezing and filled and inexplicably hollow all at the same time! She couldn't make sense of any feeling. Not when they all fast-forwarded through her like that!

Suddenly, a tidal wave of fresh memories fused itself inside her head. They disintegrated her health and instigated her pain. Though she knew the fusion of all the hurt she felt was but a childish scratch compared to the one most had to endure, it was still real: it still damaged her on the inside. It still made her want to give up and let the warm arms of unconsciousness embrace her once more.

The slight tilting of her head proved to be the challenge of a lifetime. Had anyone told her she'd feel such things from simply looking around, Darcy would tell them a big "you're crazy" decorated with a nice piece of "fuck you". Even the insides of her mouth ached! It was such a victory when her head slowly turned away from the lights and faced the source of movement, that it took her a few moments to realize what exactly was going on.

She found herself face to face with a woman. She was laid down atop the covers of a bed far away from her. Molten lava spread through her lungs at the scene, and she had to bit back a groan when new events penetrated her mind.

She never thought the sight of someone would ever be able to throw her back in time, not to mention set her mind on fire and freeze her right back to the future. Not in a non traumatic way, that was. After all, she knew there were people whose faces brought forth memories so painful she'd prefer to erase them all from her past.

Yet, as her eyes took in the brunette hairs that sprawled down the woman's frame, all she could do was blink, and blink a few more times just to remember how to breathe. She had felt so lost when she had woken up - so misplace and forfeited inside a maze of blurry quests she did not remembered to accept.

It was crazy how the other's presence was enough to put her mind at ease, even if for a few short seconds.

She remembered it then. Maybe it was everything, maybe a piece of the whole or maybe even nothing at all. How could she tell it for sure, when her scarred mind was all she had left to rely upon? Regardless of how many or precise they were, the presence of stranded memories was all she cared about, for she finally knew enough to understand her past - to understand the pain that shot through her veins with every intake of air her chest so bravely endured.

But those same memories carried the baggages of so many failures and doubts she found herself contemplating the pure burden knowledge forced her to bear. But, in the end, she knew it was all a part of who she was. She couldn't just refuse knowledge because it's burden was too heavy for her to bear. That was not how real life worked.

Not for her, at least.

She wasn't sure how to feel about the previous events, though. The putrid taste of defeat still burned knots inside her throat. It was a different set of suffering for each of her mistakes; a new kind of pain for every failure she made. And their sheer amount would have mortified her to the core had she not been so distracted by their meanings to focus on their numbers.

The first time she failed was when she answered that dreadful phone call. She had avoided her mother for a long time, and knew that, if she did not amused her at least once, she would've been just too "happy" to visit. And a visit from her mother was even worse than a full hour monologue about how abnormal she was.

But it was her first mistake either way, for not only had she broken one of her inner vows, she had cracked herself enough to be at the pure mercy of every small consequence her next failures would create.

The second time was when she lost a battle she should've known better than to engage: she let her doubts grab hold of her legs 'n feet and make her run away. It wasn't the first time she did it, nor was it the first time she regretted doing so, but cowardice was a part of her she couldn't erase. Mainly because she did not wanted it fade.

The third failure was as tied it's successor as the first was to it's own. It was also the one to hit her with the harsher blow, for she had no one to blame for it but herself. Her own weakness and the mockery she made of her words - for what else could a broken promise be called, but a mockery of one's own words? - were the only ones at fault for that one.

After all, if there was anything else that could force her to fail herself and become the one she despised the most, she didn't knew what to call it. Not that she believed there was anything to name there, of course.

And, at the end of her previous loss' serpentine head, was the humiliating way in which she failed the same woman who now laid on the bed next to hers. She wasn't sure if she failed her when she passed out or when she broke her own vows, but, if she only hadn't lost so much time being who he wanted her to be, then maybe, just maybe, she would've been able to do something right for once; then maybe she would had been able to save her.

That thought brought forth a whole set of questions she was in no place to answer. What happened after she passed out? Who saved the woman? Who save her? And why where they together, in the first place?

Fuck that! Why wasn't she in a hospital!? Better yet - why didn't she felt like she needed to be in a hospital, to begin with!? She could remember the excruciating pain she felt back in the woods, and she knew for sure that, even though her body felt on fire, her current pain was but an annoying ache compared to it's younger counterpart.

Surely her body hurt like hell and she couldn't move without the most vehement protests from her limbs...but it was still not enough. The pain she had tasted; the way she had felt...it was all too extreme - too overbearing and suffocating to be compared to anything she had ever felt.

She hoped dying wouldn't be as painful: she wasn't about to wish for a replay.

Yet, at the same time, it was the memory of that same hell that kept her sane in the first place. She would never believe in her own past as truth if all she could do was to remember. She would had sold herself as crazy and quite probably used that as new excuse to run away. Or maybe she would blame the alcohol she had consumed seconds after the phone call.

It was ironic how the instrument of her torture was, at the same time, the only thing that could keep her feet on the ground - that could maintain her sanity. So, was it too strange that she didn't wanted it to leave her anymore? Or at least not to leaver her for the time being.

She forced her eyes away from the woman's frame. Shame and guilty thorned her insides with the same mercy her mother reserved for her. Maybe even less...

A sarcastic murmur escaped her throat. There she was, drowning in drama and self pity while the brunette could've been dead. And it could have been her fault if she did, too. She was well aware of how close she had been from her own death, yet it did nothing to reassure her. Maybe she had died back then with the tree, and it was all a dream carved in glass, just waiting to crumble. Her own death would've been product of her actions alone, though, and that she could never say about the woman's.

She tried to get up. She had to get away from that bed. Away from that place and from all her misdeeds and mistakes, and into some place else - anywhere where her mind could be at ease from it's self induced torment. Even if for a brief second.

She did not had to battle her own body to sit up on the bed. She had to wage a war against it. She understood then that pain was pain, regardless of it's intensity and of it's origins. It wouldn't be less bad just because you had experienced something worse. She supposed it could trick you and make you think it was, but, in the end, it would damage just the same.

When she finally managed to swing her shaky legs away from the covers and into the floor, though, she wasn't able to hold the soft sign that crept out her throat. As bad as standing made her feel, it was well worth the effort.

But she still had no equilibrium, and so it took her a couple of tries and twice as much "almost falls" for her to regain any semblance of stability of her body. And she had thought moving her head and sitting up were hard chores to do...

Regardless of her traitor limbs, she could finally move again. She could move away from that place and be free from her self wallow and from all her doubts. It was almost a fantasy of hers to feel breeze against her cheeks and to fill her lungs with fresh air again...as weird as that might sound considering the previous - was that even correct? - night.

Then why did her legs took her along the wrong path? Why did they carried her closer, instead of throwing her away? She could see the door disappear from the corner of her eyes, and found herself defenceless against her own feet.

Maybe they were just tired of running away.

She blinked for a few seconds, and, when her eyes opened back to life, they were faced by the brunette again. She wasn't tucked beneath a blanket, nor was her body clothed in some fancy armor, and yet her face shone with serenity so deep that it contrasted with the painful grimace she knew dominated her own face.

"Irony" held many descriptions along it's legacy, it was true. But, at the moment, Darcy knew it was undoubtedly defined by the ethereal blackness that consumed her thoughts at once. It was the first time her mind was empty without being hollow, and it was an addiction she didn't knew she craved.

Fuck. She was a complete mess. Inside and outside she hurt, and she knew it was mostly her own fault, be it for being who she chose to be, be it for being who she did not. Still, all she could bring herself to focus on was the sleeping female in front of her.

A single strand of hair fell down the woman's face, and Darcy found her hands creeping over to fix it by their own volition. If she didn't knew any better, she'd say somebody else had taken control of her body, eyeing how strangely it seemed to react.

Her hands never reached their goal, though. She felt an iron grip on her left wrist. It wasn't strong enough to brake her bones, but it was surely going to leave an ugly bruise later. Only seconds later, when her back strongly hit the bed and a set of hands was used to pin her to it, did she notice it was the now wide awake woman who had grabbed her and thrown her down.

Bloody murder stared back at her from inside the other's eyes, and Darcy had no idea about what the fuck was going on. She tried to scream, but soon found a pale hand trapping all sounds inside her mouth. For a moment there she swore the brunette would suffocate her to death!

On the other hand, it was obvious that the woman was just as disoriented as she was herself. Her eyes kept drifting all around, as if to make sense of whatever it was. They never seemed to stop and stare at something specific, although they always went back to glare against her own. Darcy dreaded what fate had in store for herself when she inevitably failed to recognise the room.

Then green eyes fixed back on hers for a last time, and she knew that she was screwed.

"Who are you?" Rasped the woman. Her tone dangerous and devoid of any emotion, even though her voice sounded as if a gasp had entwined itself with a cough. "What have you done to me?"

"Hmm..." She stammered back in response. She too had no bloody idea about what the fuck was going on. She probably had even less information to share than the woman on top of her, and yet SHE was being blamed for it all? Fuck herself for trying to play a hero. Plus, her mouth was still blocked.

"I...I dunno?" She murmured back as soon as the woman's hand let her mouth go free. She should probably had answered her in a different way, she knew. But it was hard to do so when taken by surprised like that! Would it be too far-fetched of her to hope that her eyes had sent the right message?

The brunette hissed and pressed her further against the matters, this time pining her down by the neck. She tried to use her legs to toss the woman off her, but she was straddled in a way that they simply refused to move.

She was about to scream when one arm left her throat to extend itself to the side. A strange sound echoed from the same direction, and her eyes shifted to the hand attached to it instead, only to grow wide in shock: it gripped a small blade. A very real and surely lethal small blade.

The only gift time gave her was to sew her eyes before it crashed down against her skull. She had already given up on all pretences of defending herself when the blade hit her on the head. Only it didn't hurt like she thought it would. In fact, she felt like someone had punched her instead of pierced her with a weapon.

"What?" She hear the incredulous muttering above her and risked an eye open.

She saw black ashes dirtying the brunette's hand, and she could feel it scroll down her face, too. Suddenly, a new blade conjured itself from the same hand, only to crumble to ash and dust. Was she some kind of weird battle-mage or something?

Suddenly, there was a clapping sound from the another side of the room, and both their heads turned around to see a person leaning against the wall beside the now opened bathroom door. Darcy didn't knew anyone could make a shitty cosplay of spiderman look so...creepier than the original. And where those swords?

"This wasn't what I was expecting to find when I heard voices coming from here" the cosplayer sounded like a guy. A really annoying guy, if his voice was any clue about his personality. "By the way, I do not believe that THIS is what they mean when they say 'savage sex'" he laughed at his own stupid joke - which didn't fazed her at all, nor made her cheeks burn - and continued, pointing at the woman above her. "Except if you're Angelina Jolie, of course."

"I do not understand that petty colloquialism of yours, mortal" she heard her say, and could not help but resent that she refused to move away from her. She did not sounded annoyed or angry, but it was clear her patience was wearing down. Fast.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait" and the fake spiderman was incredulous. "Mortal? Me!?"

"Only a mortal would wear such...ridiculous garments" that one she had to disagree with. Thor wore a curtain last time she saw him. "Now, tell me what I want to know, or her head won't survive it this time"

"What!?" he seemed taken aback, but she would've screamed the same had her mouth been free. "You mean you galls aren't friends, after all?" What!? "Dang, I thought that, bye the way I found you sleeping at the forest, you were some kind of colleagues with a weird kink, at least. Took me a while to get you both here, by the way. So, maybe a little 'thank you for saving our dirty ass, mister Pool' would be a good place to start before making threats and demands!"

"You'll do well to remember that I am one of the oldest of my people" Darcy was incredulous. Was THAT was she took out of it? Her age? Seriously?

"What..." she forced herself to mutter. A few coughs escaped her throat as soon as the hands relived her neck of some of it's pressure. When she recovered, two pairs of eyes observed her closely...or maybe a pair of eyes and a set of creepy drawn eyes. "What do you mean? Who are you?"

"Well, I have a better question for you two: Which one of you is Darcy Lewis?"

And her blood grew cold.

What the hell did he wanted with her? How did he even knew her, to begin with!? She was certain that she'd remember a fucking cosplayer on her friend list! Fuck, she hoped he wasn't some sort of stalker. That would be the worse time for him to show himself!

She was sure the brunette's hands could feel the sweat pouring out of her skin. She could feel it crawling herself! Before she could make a bigger fool out of herself, though, the woman glanced briefly at her and glared back at the man.

"And what makes you think anyone of us is that who you seek?" The hell was she doing? She had to knew that Darcy was Darcy, and not the other way around... right?

"Ah, nothing at all" he waved in a happy tone. "But I was having an **awesome** night - and by that I mean to say I was free to wallow and pity and touch myself, not to mention the fact that I was fucking sheltered from that freaking storm outside - until some bimbo called me and told me to find whoever the fuck Darcy Lewis is supposed to be"

"Am I to take it that you are one of those pesky beings who insist to call themselves 'the good guys', mayhaps?" Sarcasm dripped from her tongue with that line. But what captured Darcy's attention was the thing that crawled against her side in the exact spot where the brunette's thighs straddled her. Somehow she knew she wasn't supposed to look there.

"Ahhhh" he seemed deep in thought. "Nah. She offered me money. Sadly, my phone had no wings, and thus I ended up without a single photo of her. Which brings me to the fact that one of you is definitively Darcy Lewis, otherwise we wouldn't even be having this conversation right now. So, before you do anything stupid, just hea-"

He was interrupted mid-sentence when a blade threw itself from the woman's legs. Darcy could feel it brush against her own waist moments before it embedded itself on his right eye. She could swear she heard a liquid noise, and shuddered at the thought.

"Fuck!" He screamed and turned his back to them, all the while trying to pull out the blade from it's spot. It was clear he wasn't dying, though. No one would curse so much and so coherently where they to be stabbed in the chest - nevermind in the eyes!

"What was that f-" he shouted above his left shoulder - dagger still in place - but was interrupted again. This time, though, it was a much bigger blade that flew from the brunette's body. It was as long as her arm and pierced his back like a spear. The heavy thud that followed denounced it's journey through the wall.

"Will you cut it already!?" He screamed as he tried to separate himself from the "spear-blade". She wondered how long it would take him to, giving how stuck he looked like. Another one of her thoughts was related to her empty stomach and how he didn't wished to throw up at the gory sight.

Her musings were cut short, though, for she soon found herself disoriented and planted on her feet. She was being dragged away by the woman, who ran them both out the door and down the stars at the end of the hall.

"Wait!" She heard the man scream once more. There was no unbearable pain in his voice. It made her heart drum to a faster beat. "Don't run away! Come back!"

Were Darcy not so lost and frenetic, she would have noticed they were in a known hotel. But it was hard to process that information when her wannabe killer had just stabbed an apparently immortal guy twice, and was dragging her by the arm down a dreadfully long set of stairs!

She was certain they would attract the attention of someone long enough for the man to catch up with them. He'd then proceed to unleash his unholy desires upon their dead bodies...or maybe just hers, for she didn't thought he would be able to face the brunette. Strangely, thought, there was no one around. All the doors were closed and only a few lights remained on.

They ran past what she believed to be an equally empty balcony and exited through two fancy double doors when she collided face-first with the woman's back. She took a moment to step away and shake her head. It hurt as much as her sore limbs, maybe even worse, and she wasn't going to risk passing out during a chase that could end up with her death.

That was also when she realized why the place was so empty to begin with: it was way past the first hours of night. A giant digital clock at a corner nearby said it was three past midnight, and the date attached to it said she had been out for three days, at least.

"What is this place?" She heard the woman whisper. There was genuine confusion on her tone, but Darcy could almost swear there was a fragment of curiosity underneath it. Maybe even prehension.

"Dread-" she coughed a few times. Her throat wasn't yet recovered from the pressure it received before. She felt the woman's eyes zero on her while she stepped beside her on the sidewalk. "Dreadyet Hills."

"It's a city" she decided to elaborate after the lost stare she received.

Before the conversation could move forward, they heard voices from inside the building, and Darcy found herself being dragged off once again. This time it was into an eerie dark alley. As soon as her feet hit the shadows, though, the woman pressed her against the nearby wall and used her left hand to shut her mouth. She'd think it was getting old if she wasn't frightened for her life again.

Fuck! Had she seriously tried to speak with her? To strike a conversation with the woman who would've been oh, so happy to kill her had whatever the fuck that happened to her weird blades not happened!? Was she fucking insane!?

Of course it would all end badly for her. When didn't it? And she had really tried, too! She had even felt bad when she believed the woman to be hurt! Those small truths stung her more than any words ever could.

Why did that kind of shit had to keep happening to her!?

"He went the wrong way" the woman said, untrapping her mouth and staring at her eyes. "He won't be off for long. There n-" And she collapsed forward onto Darcy.

It was the sheer result of years of clumsy reflexes and a bloody amount of luck that made her able to hold the brunette before it was too late. The sudden weight made her drop to the ground, but she made sure the woman rested on her knees instead of the dirty floor.

"Fuck" she hissed. The woman couldn't had found a worse time to pass out! If the man found them, there would be nothing she could ever do to defend herself, not to mention to protect the other! Dang, was she screwed!

Maybe she should just leave her there? It wasn't raining anymore, and she seemed alright and able to look after herself. Plus, the man wasn't searching for her, so she'd probably be safer there on the alley than being dragged down the street - if she'd even be able to pull that one out to begin with!

She tucked the brunette back against the wall - it wasn't like she'd die or anything, right? - and walked back to the alley's entrance. Her eyes searched for movement and for the man, but all she saw were cars and people who either didn't noticed her, or pretended not to.

A taxi revealed itself at the end of an approaching line of cars.

There wasn't anything else she could do for the woman. She wasn't strong enough to carry her around, nor was she some kind of mutant who could produce blades out of her skin! Fuck, she had stabbed that guy in the eye! She was doing the best thing by leaving her there. It wasn't safe to have her around or to be around here anymore.

"Taxi!" She screamed and signalled. The car reduced it's speed and slowly parked before her. With the windows down, she could see the driver was a young guy - maybe younger than her, even.

"Where to, miss?" He asked in a funny accent. Was he an immigrant or something? Speaking of accents, the woman sounded as if she had one herself. Was she from alien Britain or something?

"Can you take me somewhere outside town?" she found herself asking. There was just no way she'd go back to the house she lived before. Not after everything that happened. She remembered Jane. "To Larhills, close to Port Richard, perhaps?"

"Sure thing, miss!" He seemed oddly cheerful. "But it would cost a bit more, since it's so far and I was kinda looking for a friend. But hop in, hop in!"

She opened the backseat door. It was her last chance to change her mind. There would be no turning back after she entered the cab, and she knew it. Could she really leave the woman behind? She had saved her back there, after all...even if she had tried to kill her first.

She took a deep breath. It was all just a bunch of excuses and bullshit, she knew. The exact same kind of crap she almost fell for in the forest. Had she not promised never to do that again? Had she not promised not to become him again?

"Actually..." She breathed out. Uncertainty laced her voice as she stepped back from the door and looked at the dark alleyway behind. "I might need your help."


	13. Hysteria

**Disclaimer: All I own here are my plot ideas. Like, seriously. Even "Re:Life" has an owner, and it isn't me. Damn, Hysteria is a song by Muse...and I kinda am writing a story with that title, but that's not the point here.**

 **TW: Mentions of child abuse; parental neglect, depression, suicidal thoughts, self-depreciation, mental illness and violence. Plus, quite some cursing. Oh, let's not forget about the sexual mentions.**

 **AN: One again, a big thank you for all viewers, reviewers, and everyone else who supports my work. You all put a smile on my face (even though poor old me would be quite happy to read more reviews or private messages about your thoughts on this fic - be them good or bad).**

 **AN2: We have some different points of view on this chapter. There are markings there separating each scene, so you won't be utterly lost on the plot. What can I say? I told you things would start picking up from last chapter.**

 **Arch 2: Re:Life  
** **Chapter 6: Hysteria**

" _ **Do you feel safe out in the light? Or is this the place where monsters hide?"  
**_ **SVRCINA - Who Are You?**

Daylight already penetrated through the window's glass when she caught herself amidst a turmoil of thoughts. She didn't knew for how long she sat there on the bed and stared outside, but she didn't thought it mattered, anyway.

There was no pain or ache in her body, but it still felt far too weak for her own taste. She was too dizzy and all the faint smells that surrounded her were of no help. If anything, they made concentrating a few times worse than it needed to be.

It was probably some kind of mental problem, though. There were many sorts of disturbances that could make her brain work the way it was apparently working, she knew...but, if she had to guess, she'd say it was all due to the fact she knew not what was real anymore.

Had she really met her? Had she really spoken to Death? Was it really true, or was it just her mind playing stupid tricks on her? It made her head ache just for trying to fit it all into the "realm of possible".

If it was all true...then what had she agreed with, anyway? What did it all entailed? Was it like a business contract or some kind of partnership where she was but a minor employee under the orders of a bigger ranked one? If so, then how would id be different from her time as Odin's executioner?

Was there a demand for her to serve Death? To murder and pillage and destroy at her whim? It was exactly like that back in Asgard, too.

No...she would've told her so, if that was the cause. A being of such high importance and wisdom as Death wouldn't stray her from the path she wished for her to trail in, had she the chance to guide her along it's corpse. And chances Death lacked not.

But then why did she had to wish her "good luck"? Was there some hidden truth she was unaware of, or some deeper meaning to the woman's actions towards her? She knew for sure that there was probably some kind of inner desire behind all that...but what?

It was hard to know where the line between reality and fantasy was drawn when she felt so pathetically weak and unsure. The mockeries and facts burred together in her mind, and all she had left to work with was the mess they made out of her past.

There was also the possibility of it all being fake. But then how did she end up in a strange bedroom in such a strange place like the one she saw the other day? She had seen the outdoors, and she knew for a fact that it was not Asgard. Further more, if her memories were fake, then why was she so weak?

To have her weapons disintegrate in her own hands felt worse than any battle scar, both old and new. For the first time, Hela had felt true fear. It made all her actions and decisions much more impulsive and dreadful than she would've normally allowed them to be.

Her weapons were her only shields. To lose them was to give herself to her enemies naked on a silver plate. Possibly with a deliciously tiny little red apple stuck inside her mouth. Maybe even bounded and powerless against the struggle.

She heard strange sounds from the inside. The same she had heard when she escaped that weird man with that female...Darcy, wasn't it? She remembered seen many metallic carriages running around at maddening speeds, and wondered if that was what made all that noise.

She let out the air on her lungs. It didn't took a genius to know she was on that woman's care. It did nothing but worsen the hard blows her pride was forced to endure. Not that it mattered much in her situation, but it was an unwilling part of her she never bothered enough to deal with.

There were voices outside, too, and they sounded like kids. Really loud and bothersome kids. Had their parents not taught them not to scream for naught? Had she made her voice any higher than acceptable...well, there was really no telling how severe a punishment her father would force her to face.

Her vision gave a sudden sequence of throbs, and she had to blink a few times. She shook her head and took small breaths. There was no need to make her situation any worse by hyperventilating and passing out on someone else's bed.

She smelled a faint scent. It wasn't usual for her nose, but it wasn't a bad scent, either. Her stomach made a hungry growl and she resisted the urge to readily listen to it's greedy demands. All predicaments aside, it would be really rude, and Hela wasn't rude. She might've been a genocidal killer...but she wasn't rude...or at least not with those who lent her a hand in a time of need. Even if they had no choice in the matter.

If she focused her ears just right, she could also hear a strange wheezing sound. It seemed to come from beyond walls and in a strangely perfected pattern. Whoever would care enough to program the sounds they made in such way wasn't something she was ready to ponder about.

For a moment, she thought about laying back down. She was tired and she couldn't even pinpoint what it was that made her so. It was a bizarre mystery whose puzzle she had no way of solving. She had never been educated on the arts of the mind - witchcraft, as some would say -, so maybe that was what limited her knowledge.

She was no moronic buffoon, though. That was Thor's one and only trademark. It was a better reminder than Odin's eyepatch, too.

The thought made her flinch a little.

Np. She needed to get up. Last thing she wished was to be at the mercy of anyone again, much less at her weakest. She swung her legs and prepared to get up from the bed. Her idle time was coming to and end, it seemed.

She should seek out Darcy. Then she should leave and be on her way. She did not knew where to, but, if there was a willing traveller, there would always be a road. It had proven true for her, at least. Unless all her memories were fake, of course, which would be a really deep matter she wasn't nearly prepared to indulge on, physically or not.

Her feet soon led her to the bedroom's door, and she let out a sigh of exasperated relief. She would deal with the consequences of her actions later. All she needed was to get a grip and move onto the next step of her journey...whatever it was.

And so she did.

 **##**

Her eyes were heavy from the sleep she was abducted from, and yet they narrowed at the coffee machine, as if their glare alone could make it's process any faster. Her eyebrows were furrowed together, and her lips held between pointed teeth.

Darcy Lewis wasn't in a good mood. She wasn't sure if she was in any mood at all.

All night had she rolled and twisted around beneath the covers, but her memories mixed with her new thoughts, and she wasn't able to close her eyes for more than two seconds.

That was probably why the soft thuds of footsteps didn't bothered her half the way they should had. She knew who it was, but the thought itself wasn't reassuring at all.

Her back kept staring at the kitchen's entrance, and she could hear the sudden halt of the woman's steps. She fixed her attention on the mug she slowly filled with hot, brown liquid.

When there was no interaction whatsoever, she risked a look behind her shoulders and saw the woman staring. Not at her, thought. She stared at the machine, and at the liquid, as if them both were completely alien for her.

And maybe they were.

She sighed, took the full mug and slowly approached the brunette, who observed her with barely conceived wariness. She saw her open her mouth to say something, but she seemed to think better of it and it snapped back in place.

She offered the hot mug, all the while staring deep into the woman's eyes.

"Look..." She began, when all the other did was stare. "I've had a really bad night, and I had no sleep, so I'm really tired and am not in the mood for what this...interaction should be. So, please, just accept this, drink it if you will, and then we can talk or whatever else, okay?"

The brunette blinked, as if unprepared for such answer. Her eyes lingered too long on the mug, thought. Was there anything wrong with it? Maybe she thought it was poisoned or something? But she accepted it, albeit with the same gaze, so maybe she was just confused?

She saw her bring the mug up to her nose and take a sniff. She turned around and walked back to the coffee machine, stopping by the table to grab another mug. Her eyes searched for the woman, who still lingered at the kitchen's entrance.

"You can sit by the table if you want." She offered, only looking away when she saw the brunette's nod. "I sure will" she muttered to herself.

Her eyes found the coffee machine. She wasn't a fan of such things, but it was surely a huge step away from the long wait she'd had to endure had she chosen the more "traditional" way. She made a mental note to thank Jane for that small pleasure.

"What" the woman started. Her voice was small and rough - maybe from sleep? She took a few seconds to continue the sentence. She was probably taken back by the way she sounded. Darcy knew she would be. "What am I supposed to say to this?" She held her coffee up.

Darcy sighed. She had honestly thought they were making some progress.

"Just accept it" she exasperated. "You don't need to drink it if you don't like, though. I'm sure there should be something else around."

The woman murmured something, and she wondered if it might've been some sort of "thank you". She guessed not.

"So" she began, sitting on a chair in front of the other female. The kitchen's table was the only thing between them. "My name is Darcy. Darcy Lewis."

"I know" she nodded.

"...yeah, right. So...what is your name, miss thorn clothes?"

She saw a single eyebrow rise, and mentally chastised herself. Not a good idea to tease her potential murderer.

"My name is Hela" well, shit. Please don't be Asgardian, please don't be Asgardian, please don't be Asg- "A...warrior of my people" Yep. She was Asgardian, alright. "And my clothes are thorn by battle...I think"

"You think?" She knew it was the most stupid question to ask, but it gave her time to process things. She knew Nordic mythology. She knew who Hela was on it. But, then again, it wasn't really all that accurate before, so maybe it wasn't accurate now. She decided to ask later.

"I do not remember much of my last battle. I remember being hit and...and then I woke up on a bed with a stranger trying to attack me. And by that, I mean you."

"What are you talking about?" She was incredulous. The woman, Hela, seemed to have that effect on her. "I was just trying to..." she blushed. "I was just trying to get a better look, that's all!"

"With your fingers?" The eyebrow again.

"Just..." she struggled to control the redness of her cheeks. "Just what do you want here, anyway?"

"What..." she seemed taken aback. Strange. "What I want?"

"Yes. You must have a reason to be here, or...I dunno?"

"I did not choose to be here - wherever it is - if that's what you're asking me"

And suddenly, Darcy's guilt ate her at the core. She knew it was a possibility, and that she could be lying or hiding something...but still, she had almost let an innocent woman die, just because she assumed...Suddenly, being like her progenitor wasn't as 'far' as she thought before.

She wanted to apologize. To say she was sorry. She wanted to cry and to beg forgiveness.

"Earth" she found herself saying instead. "You're on Earth."

The brunette narrowed her eyes in thought. Darcy had seen she sip from her drink before, but she absolutely devoured the rest of it. Dang, she must've had drank the sugar at it's bottom, too.

She was startled when Hela banged the mug on the tabletop, an action so close to Thor's that she couldn't help but gulp loudly. She knew she was heard.

"I do not wish you harm, Darcy" her voice was reassuring, but still far from enough.

"Could have fooled me..." she muttered. 'Nice shot'.

"I...am ashamed by my earlier actions" the way she said it...Darcy could almost believe her. "But rest assured there will be no replays" she stood up of her chair. "I thank you for the offer, but I must decline it this time"

"Of-" She began to ask, but stopped when she saw Hela turn around and begin to walk away. She must've known the way outside. "Wait!" she shouted, getting up herself. She saw her mug twist and turn and almost drop, but she did not care. "Where are you going?" She followed her. "Do you even know what Earth is?"

"I am aware what Midgard is" her voice was raspier, as if offended.

"But then, where are you going? What do you plan on doing?"

"And why should I believe that you care!?" Hela snapped, bracing herself against the hallway's wall. She looked at Darcy, who stopped on her tracks a few feet from her. "You think me a fool? You offer me drink and you treat me with hospitality, but you are not the first! I know that, behind that altruism lies burning hatred or bottomless fear!"

"W-wha" her words got stuck in her throat. She took a step back. Was that what she believed? That she despised her? That she was afraid? Was she wrong to believe that?

Hela scoffed. Her gazed lowered for a second and she turned back around before Darcy could see her eyes again. "Thank you for proving my point"

She started to walk, but had to brace herself against the wall. She seemed hurt and dizzy. Pretty common after passing out like she did the other night.

Suddenly, Darcy walked past her and stopped in front of the door. Her eyes searched for the brunette's, who gritted her teeth in annoyance.

"I fear you, alright!" There were just too many feelings at play; too many tiring sleepless nights on her shoulders...She wasn't in control of her thoughts, let alone her mouth. She had no time to figure out if it was a good thing. "You fell from fuck knows where, almost kills me without noticing, then actively tries to kill me with a fucking blade you grow out of your own body, you stabbed a guy in the eye and stuck him to a wall with a bloody spear! What the fuck do you want me to feel!?"

She was panting by the end of her rant. She could feel the blizzard from the woman's eyes. It make her skin itch.

"If you feel so threatened, if you find me such monster...then just let me leave. I promise not to come back."

Her words made Darcy's stomach drop. They weren't the angry words she expected. They were only...words. There was no emotion behind them. There was nothing at all.

"No." She refused to break their eyes apart.

"What do you mean 'no'?" Hela's teeth grit harder.

"If you really want to go - if you really want to leave...then there's nothing I can do." She took a small breath. "But..." she faltered. Was she really going to go forth with it? Was that what she really wanted? She couldn't really explain why she felt the need to finish her line. It was probably a mix between her issues and her insecurities; probably her own dreams, too. "But I'd like it if you stayed"

They stared at each others eyes forever and a while more. It was like time stood still, unwilling to push them forward ahead.

"Why is it that you insist so much?" It was Hela's single question. Her voice was small. Her eyebrows slightly together and there was something else she couldn't quite pinpoint.

Darcy knew may ways to answer that. Neither of them were lies, yet, none of them were truths. They were but excuses. Excuses for her to drive things the way she wanted them to race. And that was the reason for her mouth to speak for itself again.

"Because I'm selfish" she _heard_ her own shudder.

And that was all it took. Hela's face morphed back to what it was. Her eyes broke free from their trance and her back was her parting gift. What had she seen in her eyes? What had she heard in her voice? Why did she gave up? Darcy didn't knew, but had no time to wonder, for the brunette's legs shook and she almost fell to the floor.

"Hela" Darcy approached. "Do you need help?"

Her only answers were a hiss and a nasty look. She stood her ground, but forced herself to watch the woman walk away, presumably back to her room.

The fact she looked like a broody teenager would've made Darcy laugh in a normal day. But she was hardly in the mood to.

She knew she had won that particular battle of wills...but then why did she felt she had suffered a bigger loss?

 **##**

She could feel the soft touch of wind on her arms. It danced in from the window to her right. She had opened it as soon as she went to the living room, but, as the kids' laughter swept in, she knew what a stupid idea it really was.

Another stupid idea was to switch on the TV. Her blank stare gazed through the it's screen, utterly lost to it's show. Her mug of coffee laid cold in her hands, unable to satiate her thirst. She placed it softly on the floor and grabbed the remote.

Her hands pressed buttons and the channels rolled over the screen, but it they all revered in the same old crap. She furrowed her brows when the image shifted to one of a man dressed in a blue suit. It was a news channel.

"We're live across the street from Worthington Labs, where we see two sides of what could be called a true civil war" she cringed at the words. She had heard about them on occasion, but what could make a 'civil war' erupt in their doorstep was beyond her knowledge. What the hell had happened when she had been sleeping? "On the right we see the group of mutants who approve of the cure, and on the left we see the ones who aren't very happy about it."

"Mutant cure?" She whispered in disbelief. The worse part was that it didn't even surprised her anymore. There was a clear parallel between the mutants predicament and her own: both were 'sick' and had people at the million trying to 'cure' them, when in truth, they were far from sick. They were just who they were.

She switched channels. She wasn't ready for something like that. Not after what happened at the kitchen.

The image morphed into a photo of Spiderman. The news were less heavy, but equally unwelcome:

"Spiderman, was seen saving a man from what would be his certain death when he fell fro-"

She switched the TV off. Her hands crept down and grabbed her mug, and her legs moved her into the kitchen counter again. She pressed a button on the coffee maker and let out a heavy sigh. Was everything conspiring against her that morning? It surely seemed so. All she wanted was to sit down and relax, but of course she couldn't. Of course shit would keep her awake and annoyed for as longs as they wished.

She spilled the cold coffee down the drain and went back to the machine. She had been lost in thought for far longer than she believed, for the temperature was already at boiling point.

New coffee in hands, she closed her eyes and inhaled it's scent. There was something in it that always seemed to calm her down. It was strange in a way, but she wasn't going to complain. Not when that was the closer she could get to relaxing.

She heard the laughter again. It didn't made her mad or bitter in the lightest. No. If anything, it made her envy them. The way she grew up was the further from ideal she could've got. She remembered the nights she spent out crying - sometime in hunger, sometimes in pain - and all the harsh mornings she was forced to endure...

But it would do her no good to dwell on the past. She was certain it helped no one.

With her heart throbbing in her chest and a weird smile on her face, Darcy walked away from the kitchen and out the front door. She squinted her eyes and used a hand to cover them from the morning sun, all the while finding the perfect spot to sit on the stairs.

She brought the coffee to her lips and took a delicious sip of it. It was hot - warm enough to bring unshed tears to her eyes, but not warm enough to burn her lips or tongue. The perfect temperature, if she ever had any say in the matter.

Her eyes focused on the group of kids in the street. They laughed and chattered and played silly games without a care in the world. She could see their parents just a little bit ahead, watching them with content smiles on their faces.

It made her heart bleed for a range of reasons she couldn't bring herself to understand. Not that she wanted to at the time. There were already too much of a burden on her shoulders. There was no need to add any unnecessary weight to it.

She couldn't remember the last time she had space for herself. She certainly had free time after she moved out to "fuckswhere", but free time and time for oneself are two different concepts. The differences between them were almost the same as the ones between "loneliness" and "alone"...only a little harder to explain if you never experienced it yourself. But, then again, it was probably just a fusion of loneliness and sadness that made her unable to take pleasure on her own self.

She wondered if that was what made Hela stay. Had she felt it through her stare? She wasn't sure how to feel it she had, nor did she knew how to feel if she didn't.

Another heavy breath left her mouth. It was going to be a long week...

 **##**

Her mind wasn't nearly enough to comprehend how strangely things had moved since she woke up.

She had been offered that beverage - "coffee", if she remembered correctly - and a place to stay.

But what stuck with her were those eyes. They were so...familiar and so alien in ways she couldn't really explain. She knew it was the child in her that made her turn around and stay. Her curiosity burned with a new puzzle and she was bent on completing it's challenge.

Problem was she couldn't really focus on anything. There were so many things wrong around her, and she had no idea if they were normal to the place or if they were peculiarities of hers...regardless, they were driving her mad, and she could do nothing but watch herself be consumed by it's unwavering grip.

She tried to think about Darcy or Midgard or the veracity of her past, but the scents around were just too alluring not to inhale. The delicious aroma broke through her nostrils and ignited her lungs with raw desire.

It was the madder hunger she had ever felt. It was tainted with greed and envy and hatred in a way she had to bend her body forward and press against her midsection. She knew then that she wasn't being driven to madness - she was already mad with lust for something she couldn't begin to recognize.

She was crouched on the floor, groaning and salivating when the most enticing smell penetrated her nose. It made her knees go limp and her whole body vibrate in bliss. Rough pleasure swallowed her whole, and suddenly her lungs weren't nearly full enough; her intakes of breath weren't good enough. The scent itself wasn't strong enough for her taste!

Her neck twisted around and her eyes couldn't focus on anything at all. She was desperate to find the source of her bliss, but utterly fruitless despite all her efforts.

She wanted to scream her frustration out loud, but her voice was drowned by her own throat. She wanted to dig her nails deep inside her own head and find herself a little relief, but her arms were too weak for her to move.

The scent carved itself in her core, and she couldn't help but moan out loud. Her eyes were fogged and her breaths painfully shallow. It was a state of utter depravity she had never found herself in, but couldn't bring herself to fight against.

And then her neck snapped up and her chin pointed at the ceiling above. Her eyes focused on the window at her back and she knew it was were the smells came from. Her lips split into a wicked smile and she wasted no time in getting to the window frame.

The sun battled against her eyes for a second, but she was far too gone to care enough to cower from it's bright heat. Her lungs filled themselves with the aroma and her nails sank deeply into the glass. It's cracks were loud and would've sent shivers through her skin had her ears not being so deaf.

Her mouth opened wide, and some of her saliva stuck to the window. She pressed her forehead against it's cold surface and a growl crawled forth from the roots of her throat. Raw ecstasy snaked deep beneath her flesh, into the blood in her veins and inside her very soul.

Her eyes unblurred and her vision zeroed on the source of the scent. They went wide as saucers just as soon, and her mouth let out a panic-driven gasp. Was that what made her toes curl and her body to beg for more? Was that what made her lust and crave and mad with the desire?

No. No. Anything but that. Anything but the kids outside.

But, right there were she was, forcing herself not to breathe as the reflection of her pure black eyes stared back from the glass, she knew that it was true. She knew it was the kids who drove her hunger, and the maddening implications of it made her stomach curl. To her horror, it wasn't in disgust, but in an effort to beg for their flesh and for their bone.

She was petrified. Frozen in place like a statue and at complete mercy of gravity to guide her limbs around. The realization that she wasn't in sexual lust for them, but in raw desire to devour their bodies and savour in their remains pierced her harder than a billion swords ever could. It would've been a disgrace if her desires were sexual, but they could have an explanation at least. She would have never acted on them, she knew, but hunger was a whole new matter, for how could one survive without it's food!?

She stared back at the reflection of her own putrid orbs. They twirled around like the inside of a tornado seconds before it hit solid ground. She could swear their disease were slipping out their sockets and snaking in through her pores. The worst part was that she could actually feel it happening, and she had no will or desire to prevent it.

Suddenly, her reflection changed and what stared back was the skeletal face of Death. Her eyes glowed black much like hers, and she found herself captivated by their beautiful stare. A black liquid crawled down the bony face, and Hela opened her mouth to say something - anything to make it dry.

But her vision blurred out at once and she took a step back. She felt her legs hit something and the last things she saw was that black, putrid tear.

When would she ever stop disappointing the people around her?

 **##**

Thousand realities across that glass, it's reflection slowly faded from the surface of a lake. The waters moved from side to side, nonchalant to their guest's demise. Small, unimpressed waves travelled across the waters and broke against it's dirty borders.

Sat atop the higher edges was Death's gentle portrait. Her legs hanged down and danced to a deaf beating only her ears could taste. Her eyes were sealed and her face drawn into a sorrowful grimace, but still her lips refused not to smile.

In billions of different realities and unending years of existence, she never once had to deal with that kind of thing. It was all raw new and not necessarily good or bad...all too bizarre and new to her, that she didn't knew what to make of it. To feel concerned and to have a will to interfere should never had been part of her being, but still it proved true.

She breathed out a heavy sign. Maybe it would be better if she had never interfered with things in the first place. Then all the mess she found herself and inevitably dragged Hela into would never be a concern of hers.

And yet, she knew there was just no way she'd give it all up, for, in every time and space, in every universe and dimension she existed, in every dilemma and resolution she partook, Death had never felt so...real.

She had been selfish at first, she knew. She had been driven mad by grief, and thus had triggered events that changed the fate of life itself. And then she had punished herself by being selfless and absent - by being a guide instead of a solid path...but it all consumed her insides and forced her into someone she never wanted to be.

It was really ironic how alike they all were.

A soft growl made her turn her head to the giant wolf who rested his massive head on her lap. She gave back a growl of her own and petted his fur with gentle hands. While she could make her bones turn into the warm flesh of mortals, the wolf was never happy with her when she did. He liked her the way she was.

What a strange creature, he was. Just like her Hela. They both were so vibrant and full of life - as much as she hated the notion - that it was quite a sad fate that they had the ends they did. It was a miracle, ratter than a curse, that the brunette survived her ultimate battle, and even thought she knew that it was her hand that pushed her back to life, Death couldn't stop herself from being proud of the woman.

Another growl made her smile and stare at the beast's eyes. So alike.

"I'm proud of you, too, Fenris" she whispered, all the while ruffling behind his ears. He blinked at her and licked her face. Her robes would be wet for a while...

Her mind travelled back to the brunette. It almost made her feel bad to know how hard she would take the beginning of her new self. The hunger for the living wasn't a pretty thing, and she wouldn't be able to stop it, regardless of it's beauty. She knew, though, that Hela was capable of overcoming it - of winning against her own desires.

She had made a grave mistake in the past, and she did not intended on repeating it with the woman. She would do her best, and, if it was not enough, then at least she'd know she had tried. Plus, for the first time in forever, Death knew that she was not alone, present company included.

A sudden buzzing came out from somewhere beyond the lake, and she knew that it was the last chance she had to change her mind. But, seeing Fenris get up and roar valiantly at it's general direction, she knew that it wasn't a choice at all - there was no other way she would ever act.

"Calm down, boy" she resisted the urge to pet him a little more. He grunted a bit and sat back beside the late. She got up from her position and hung her body against the borders. No gravity could ever affect her weren't it one of her desires. "There is nothing to fear down there"

And she shot down into the water, burying herself deep beneath it's freezing surface. There was no time to be lost and there was no ruthlessness to be forgiven. It was her time to do her worst, and she really cared not for the repercussions of her selfish self, for she knew that, albeit evil and devoid of any grace, her actions were the right ones.

She knew that she was doing the right thing, and it put a wicked smile on her face. The mere idea of spitting into some disgusting faces was just too delicious for her to let it go. It seemed it was time for some old, raw fun. Or, as her target would say, it was time to cause a little bit of tricky mischief.


	14. Ego

**Before anything else, I wanna share with you that a dear friend of mine is going through a hard time, and, since I don't really have means of helping that person, I'm gonna write this with them on my mind, for, as self absorbed as it may sound, I know that they at least can get some distraction through this.**

 **#BeStrong**

 **Disclaimer: Well, if you came all the way here and still don't know that I don't own Thor or any of these Marvel characters, then you're a little weird. I do not own the work called "Re:Life" (anime nor any other media it may be associated with), but I do own my previous story arch of the same name, and so do I own my plot ideas here. Nothing more than that, though.**

 **A sincere apology: I guess this was the longer time I've gone without updating, but it was for a reason beyond my control: my pc monitor stopped working, and I only got one at about a week ago. I was able to continue my work with Down With The Fallen at the same time. I was able to complete my sketches of 2 new fics (a oneshot that I promised sometime ago and what I'm guessing will be a 5-7 chapters fic), even thought they're all on paper and not nearly as finished as I'd like them to be. They're respectively called "Outline" and "Forsaken Howls", by the way, and both are part of Down With The Fallen's "universe".**

 **AN: Here we'll be engaging into a new story Arch. This is going to be, by far, the most important one, so, please, pay attention to the details, for there are many hidden things there. The way words keep being repeated, and the way some thoughts are reinforced and even the way a character refers to another are all clues of what's to come.**

 **Trivia: "Yore" means a distant past. It's mainly used with nostalgic undertones or mock nostalgic undertones. You'll be surprised at how great it fits this story arch.**

 **PS: By the way, feel free to point out any mispelled words or things like that you might find in this and/or in other chapters. The word "woman" is repeated plenty of times here, but it's proposital.**

* * *

 **Arch 3: Howls of Yore  
** **Chapter 1: Ego**

" _ **So why then has all my life made no sound?"  
**_ _ **Chevelle - Shameful Metaphors**_

The world span around her in a hauntingly familiar way. It's mockery of her sanity made the pain at the bottom of her back but a nuisance to her health. It was probably the fear of the unknown speaking out loud, though.

She didn't knew whether the obnoxious drama on the TV screen was more annoying than her headache, but she couldn't bing herself to care, anyway.

After a few moments of stretching and recollecting herself, Darcy groggily reached for the remote on the carpet and switched off the device. For a brief second, she wondered how Jane would react to find her there, were she to go home.

Shaking her head, she got up from the sofa and picked up the coffee cup off the floor. She almost forgot to leave the remote on the table, but caught herself in time. It seemed dizziness was an unwelcome add-on to sleeping on the hard surface of Jane's sofa. It wasn't like she chose to sleep there, though. There were just too many hours one could stay awake on caffeine alone, after all.

Her movements froze themselves when her eyes landed on the lonely figure standing by the kitchen's window. Hela stared outside with a look so lifeless Darcy wished she couldn't recognize as a long lost cousin of her own.

It was also the first time after the incident in which Darcy took in the brunette's attire. It was but a mix of dirty rags, and she felt bad with herself for even allowing her to stand there in such horrendous garments. The cold breeze that crept through the windows all but cemented her guilt.

"Your house is quite accommodating, miss Lewis" said Hela. Her eyes never left the outside and, for a moment, Darcy wondered if she was avoiding her or if there was something she longed for outside.

She took a minute to walk into the room and deposit her forgotten coffee at the sink before replying.

"It isn't really my house" she felt a little embarrassed to admit it, for whatever reason. She decided to elaborate when silence was her only answer. "It's a friend's house"

"Then I should give my thanks to said friend" she finally took her gaze inside and stared right into Darcy's eyes. "Even though you're the one who imprisons me in here"

"I do not 'imprison' you here" she ruffed in utter indignation. Was she for real? "I just don't want you going outside and dying and heightening my conscience, or something" Hela's gaze dropped to the floor at the comment, and Darcy felt something awful in her chest. She realized then the woman had probably meant it as a joke, and forced a shaky smile upon her face. "Plus, there's really no way to contact Jane right now. That woman has no liking for landline telephones, I tell you"

She breathed out when the woman barely hummed in response. Her hands fumbled with her clothes and she couldn't help but stare at the state of the brunette's own.

"It would seem I might need new garments sooner rather than later" Hela said as she reverted back to staring outside.

"You know" Darcy began. She cringed inside at how transparent was the insecurity of her voice. She made sure to avert the woman's questioning gaze that time. "I am going out today to buy myself a phone. That way I can contact my friend and tell her that we are at her house."

"...and?"

"And I was thinking that perhaps you'd want to go with me?"

She saw a perfect eyebrow shot up the woman's forehead, and forced more words from her mouth before her idea was nipped at it's very roots. "I mean, we need to get you new clothes and there is that small detail of you knowing shit about Earth - yes, I know you know what 'Midgard' is or whatever, but I also saw how confused everything made you that night...so, will you please go with me?"

A few tense seconds seemed a few too many, but finally Hela turned her body back around to face the younger woman's own.

"You're a lot smarter than you look, you know?"

"Thanks...I guess?"

The brunette tilted her head and finished her speech:

"I am ready to follow you outdoors. But know you, deary, that I do not believe this to be a good idea at all."

Darcy exhaled a trembling laugh and approached the goddess. "Just let me get ready first. I'll grab something for you to wear outside, too"

"What is the point of buying new garments of you already have ones in your possession? I do not believe myself to be able to repay such items any time soon"

"Which is exactly why you shouldn't be indebted to Jane." she gave the brunette a small smile and passed her through the kitchen's door.

"And, for the record, I don't think that it is a good idea, too." Her last words only reached the other's ears when she was already far from sight, but it made her sigh all the same.

They were walking down a random street of Larhills when the clouds started to form. They weren't ominous by any means, but an unspoken deal to complete their chores before any possible rainfall was sealed with a single glance.

It wasn't the first time Hela felt out of character around the young woman. She knew why it was, but preferred not to address it at the moment purely out of respect for the actions of her company.

She was utterly mesmerized by the city, though. She had seen many kinds of places on her time, Asgard included, but none of them compared to what she saw between the building jungle.

While it was true that each civilization had it's own architecture and it's own sense of morality, it made her wonder how far down Midgardians were willing to go for the pure sake of technology and income. After all, when you can smell your home's pleas for mercy, you know that your actions have gone a little bit too far.

Honestly, she never understood what was the big deal with technology. It was but a mere commodity that most could live without, yet decided to worship it's fragile lies with both their hands. It reminded her of Odin. He was a sucker for the material just like the people she walked across, but his obsession was focussed on the military section whether than the petty luxuries she kept spotting around. It made his desires even worse in her eyes, though. It was a thing to buy medical supplies, but it was another to use your people's trust to wage wars against itself.

The thought made her cringe. She had tried to do the same just after she was free from the old hag's grip. It was interesting how, regardless of how much planning she put into it, her footsteps tended to follow on his shady ones like arrows dreamed of hitting the bullseye.

She wasn't a pacifist, though. She wouldn't mind running her blades through a thousand heads if she needed to, but she'd avoid it if she could. Not like any of her people had stopped enough to realize it during her "invasion", though. Did they really believe she'd let them alive if she wanted mass murder? She made damn sure each of her blades pierced the flesh of a warrior. No civilian's hair was hurt by her. No baby was stolen from it's crib by her. And that was one of the things - if not the only one - in which she was better than Odin.

That thought brought a smile to her face.

A loud sound of one of the transportations around made her eyes follow it's metallic trail. The things were too common around for their own good. She knew a lot of warriors who would be pissed of beyond belief by the mere fact that a person would choose to abandon their legs to weakness for the comfort of a piece of metal.

"They are cars" she heard Darcy say from her right. It seemed her wondering eyes weren't as subtle as she believed them to be. The woman's voice brought together with it's gentle tone the sudden realization that Hela was not alone, though, and it made her stomach boil. It was the first and probably only time in which she would thank the vehicles for the foul scent they left behind. "The longer ones like that" she pointed to a big, white vehicle. "Are called buses. The ones with two tires are called motorbikes and the ones with that thing attached to their back are called trucks. There are smaller ones, though."

She made sure to pay attention to her words. It wasn't like she cared about how they were called or how they looked, but she had to distract herself from the hunger that threatened to devour her whole.

"Oh?" She managed to sound interested, albeit a little bored. It probably wouldn't hurt to indulge the dialogue a little bit, though. "I take it neither you nor your friend possesses any of these things? Not that I would want to travel inside them anytime soon."

Before she answered, the woman gave her an amused look she decided not to ponder too much about. "No, I do not own a car. At least not anymore. And Jane would probably hire someone to drive her around instead of doing so herself, since she's 'all-work' nowadays. Kinda sucks, if you ask me."

She was about to question about Darcy's friend when her nose was assaulted by a scent so good her toes almost curled inside her boots. She was sure that her intake of breath wasn't as subtle, though.

Her eyes travelled ahead - to the origin of such unashamed pleasure - and were faced with a group of young people striding towards them. She could feel her fingers dig at the flesh of her palms when the scent grew by the step.

She closes her eyes and took in a huge breath through her nose. Not the best idea, she knew, but it would have to satiate her hunger for the time being. The thought made her heart give a painful throb. It seemed that her self-control could only last too much, and her brain knew that before she even dared dream of it.

The sudden impact against her shoulder made her gaze snap to the teenage boy who brushed past her. He dared call back to her in what she was sure to be the most irritatingly annoyed voice - the likes that only a broody teen could replicate.

She felt the muscles of her legs twitch in anticipation of her chase. Saliva already started gathering inside her mouth and a tidal wave of murderous thoughts washed through her mind's eye.

Why had such a dirty peasant to smell like the fancier of all meals? The sheer ridiculously of would've made her sneer if not for the icy coldness that burned through her veins.

"There are a lot of bigger places around, you know?" She heard Darcy speak from somewhere to her right. Her focus drifted from the 'walking ration' to the woman beside her, and she couldn't help but wonder why she didn't smell as alluring to her. Could it be that she was-

"Oh, look!" The sudden exclamation broke itself against her thoughts and made her force her eyes to follow the direction of the pointed finger. Nothing extraordinary caught her attention there. "It's a coffee shop! Maybe we could pass by on our way back and buy some hot stuff."

"I believe that beverage you offered me was hot enough, miss Lewis" and there she was again, forcing words out of her throat merely to distract herself from the urges that crawled around her core. It almost made her feel bad for the woman beside her, but she had the strange certain that she already knew what her true intentions were.

"No" her negation was followed by the subtle scent of coffee. It made Hela wonder if the thing was really strong enough to reach her from across the street, or if there was something wrong with her nose. Besides it's belief that a person's was a walking piece of edible flesh, of course. "It's not a literal thing. It's just a way of saying 'something good and new' or the like."

"Then why not say it?"

"Because it would sound much less co-" she gave a brief pause in the middle of her speech. Hela was sure she was finding some words to replace whatever colloquial terms she was about to blurt out. "Appealing - much less appealing"

She raised an eyebrow when the woman's eyes met her own and silently challenged her to back her words up with some proof. The disappointment she felt when their stare broke left an unexpected void in her chest.

It seemed harder to focus on not devouring every living being around her when the woman's lips were shut. It was a risky situation she didn't wanted to expose herself to, much less at her current weak state.

That's why, at the risk of upsetting Darcy on a future date, the goddess decided to engage her on useless conversation. It was a possibility that the Midgardian's feelings would be hurt at a later date, but she supposed that would be a problem for her to deal in another date. If they were even together by then, of course.

To her personal credit, she tried her best to listen to the silly explanations the girl gave her about each small thing she could come with. To her demerit, though, she wasn't able to understand a single word she said. Not because they were difficult, but because that, to her ears, they were as distant as her last smile - maybe farther away, even.

Suddenly, the scents were too strong. They outnumbered her brain's basic functions and stole the whole of her focus from Darcy's words. She forced herself to grab a cold metal bar attached to the sidewalk to steady herself, and could hear the muffled gasp of the young woman.

Her head spun around and throbbed in a way she almost crushed the bar not to let go of it. She knew that, if she were to leave it behind, her only thoughts would be of satiating her hunger. The fact that she might hurt Darcy in the process made it even worse. It wasn't like she liked the woman or something. But she did appreciate the things she had done - and kept doing - for her.

"Hela?" She sounded genuinely concerned. The gentle touch of a hand to the middle of her back confirmed so. "Are you alright?"

Her hurtful comeback died at the bottom of her throat when she realized that it was all probably her own fault, and that the woman had no way of knowing that. She was pretty sure that she was the only one who knew about her deal with Mistress Death, after all. Other than the woman herself, of course.

"I'm fine" she managed to grit out as images of the skeletal woman crossed through her mind. The strained and raspy way that her voice sounded to her own ears made a furrow take hold of her brows. Not the best way to convince someone of her health status. "Let's keep going"

It was the Midgardian's gaze that made her wonder if it was all a bad choice at the end of the day. Not just to brushing her concerns off, but to leave the house with such hunger roaring it's dirty teeth.

She could see the woman deflate in front of her, as if giving up on whatever plan that she had in mind. Maybe she had remembered of the hallway incident? It wasn't her place to wonder. At least not after her actions.

"Okay" the girl skipped a little ahead on the pretense of guiding her way, but Hela knew that she was hurt. It irked her to the bone how easily she could read her emotions.

But how could it be hard, when they were a perfect mirror of her own?

They had barely crossed the store's entrance doors when a young woman arrived at their side. The way she ported herself denounced, together with her name tag, her status as a vendor. Hela couldn't help but notice how younger than Darcy she looked.

There was something utterly wrong about her, though. Something the goddess couldn't really put her finger in, but somehow knew was present. It was like a warning that told her to keep away from the girl - that she wasn't good for her taste buds. Probably because of how extravagant her clothes smelled.

"May I help you, ladies?" She asked. At least she was polite.

"Oh" Darcy seemed unaware of her approach. Wasn't she saying something about how boring 'tendencies' were? "We're fine for now, thank you!"

The vendor nodded twice and walked off leaving behind promises of help together with some extra miscellanea she wasn't half interested in hearing. She much more preferred to observe the strange clothes on display.

She elegantly followed Darcy along a small corridor of clothes, all the while listening to her explanations of how each garment worked, how she should look for their price, what were all those different fabrics for, and, of course, where she could proof wear them to see if they'd fit. To be honest with herself, she wasn't a big fan of changing her clothes at some unfamiliar place filled with strangers. She had done it in front of Death, of course, but that had felt so much different and reasonable somehow. The realization that she had done it because she had felt safe in the woman's presence hit her a little harder than she expected it to.

She let her gaze focus back on the clothes. She didn't needed to spend more time pondering about things she had no way of changing and no urgent desire of understanding. Much less when those same things took great pleasure on eating her from the inside.

It weirded her out how awful of a job some of these clothes did of covering one's body, when they covered something at all! There were "pants" who looked like underwear and underwear who looked like bare skin. These were clothes she wouldn't let herself be caught death in. Ever. And the weirdness only got worse when she saw how their price tags worked. Maybe the values should be read in reverse? There was no way such little fabrics could cost more than some far more accommodating and material demanding ones, after all.

They had just entered a new corridor when she had to fight down a sudden urge to ravish a new source of raw, delicious smell. A quick sweep of her eyes around the place told her it came from a young child who was bent forward and probing a pair of shoes.

She forced her eyes back to the woman beside her and asked for her to be shown to some real clothes. She took the chance to ask her about the unuseful garments, too, but all she received in response was a soft laugh and a shake of the head.

She didn't knew what it was that she said that could be so funny, but decided against commenting on it. She wasn't a stupid moron like her blacksmith wannabe sibling, though, so she understood the basics behind these clothes - that they were designed for some sort of seduction or some similar scheme...but wasn't it against trade rules to ask for more than something was worth and deliver much less than primarily agreed upon?

It used to be like that amongst her people, at least. Many, many years before she even started to fall for Odin's plans, though. Regardless, it just didn't pleased her at all. Were these the people called those like her "monsters"? They hurt their own indiscriminately for petty riches, and dared have a say at all?

It seemed Midgard never ceased to surprise her. It was a real shame that it had yet to be in a good way, too. Which made her wonder what could had happened to Darcy Lewis for her to be who she was. Surely she wasn't following some cultural thing like she first suspected...then why?

It was also true, though, that it was quite hard to find good things about a new place when all she saw of it made her want to open holes on someone's soul. So maybe her opinions were a tad bit biassed at the moment.

Hela was proud to spend so little time searching for clothes of her liking. It wasn't a common fact, but she never cared much for such things as clothes. She probably would if her father hadn't drilled the military arts on her brain so early in life. The other Asgardian women surely seemed to like them a quite a bit. Maybe even more so than miss Lewis, who she was sure had spent hours to find what she deemed to be a "suitable warm blouse".

And to think that the girl had the audacity of launching her plenty of weird stares when she saw the few clothes she had picked for herself! Well, maybe black and green weren't her favourites, and in all sincerity, she had no idea if they were even her own favourites, but at least they didn't looked like something a court jester would wear for it's job.

That was not to say she didn't found Darcy's purchases to be acceptable, though. They did suit her very well, unlike the orange monstrosity a woman was currently trying to force onto a young child. They looked worse than Thor's garments, and they looked like curtain remains!

If she imagined it just right, she swore she could picture Frigga giving the smug prince a few long earfuls. The thought almost formed a smile on her face. It instantly disappeared when she remembered what happened with the goddess when that woman decided she wasn't worth the effort anymore - that she wasn't worthy of her love.

A few years before, such painful reminder would be a critical stab against her core. But, as she was right then - waiting for Darcy to pay for the clothes they had purchased with what she thought to be a comforted smile -, the pain suddenly didn't hurt her so much.

It was all due to how the woman picked her curiosity, she was sure. Her whole being was a giant mystery to Hela, and she had no shame on admitting so. The most troubling part of the puzzle, though, was the fact that her scent wasn't all that troublesome to deal with like the others were. Maybe it was due to the fact that she saw Darcy as a person, and not as a Midgardian-shaped piece of meat.

It was said woman's touch who, once again, took all her attention away from the hunger inside. She was guiding her out the front doors and into the cold, windy streets, and she almost had to hold onto the girl's side when the menacing mixture of outdoors' scents rushed inside her nostrils at once. She was able to retain enough control to steady herself and pull away from the touch.

She didn't wanted Darcy's help. She didn't needed her help. She had already accepted so much aid from her, and there was just no way that she would let herself be in any bigger debts with her. She would have to overcome her own urges alone and in the cold if needed be, but she wouldn't let herself be helped through the whole ordeal. It was her battle to fight, not Darcy's.

The fact that they still needed to visit another store made her breathe out a heavy sigh. That was going to be a frustratingly long afternoon.

It was hard to fall asleep with shattered memories in her head. Her failures kept exposing their ugly faces every time she closed her eyes and her nose was assaulted by brand new smells every time she tried to breathe. Sometimes her bones seemed to claw against her insides when she dared roll around on the cushions, too.

She had once again lost one of the most important battles of her lifetime, and for no other reason than her lack of competence, even. There were no excuses she could come up with to justify her lost cause. There were no allies to tell her it was going to be okay, even if their words were hollowed and fake.

There was no one to blame but herself.

That's why she left the bed and put on the clothes Darcy had bought her during their trek. She put the softest pair of boots that laid on the wooden wardrobe and padded cautiously into the hallway. She could see the door that separated her from the other woman from there, but knew that she was long since drowned in a cloud of troubled sleep. A blind fool could see how exhausted she was.

She left silently through the front door and made sure to look around the street to remember her way back. Her plans weren't to cross the street and go back inside, and if she ended up lost there, her current predicament would only get worse.

Thinking of worse scenarios made her wonder when they both - Darcy and her - would stop their pretending. She wondered when they would stop acting like they were lifelong acquaintances or at the very least the best of friends. It was starting to get on her nerves too soon for her own comfort.

She wasn't sure why the woman decided to start their "game", but suspected it was almost the same reason for which she herself decided to indulge it for. It was another wonder, though, what kind of emotional pain could be behind the young woman's drive. It was no secret that she was deeply troubled by whatever it was. That was also the first reason as to why she had walked back to "her room" on that day instead of leaving the unexpected hospitality behind.

As if pretending would make anything better...

It wasn't any news for her that she had a curious mind. It was a truth she had accepted on her early days, back when she was still under Frigga's warm gaze. She remembered telling her of her desires to study on the arcane - to be a magician or a battlemage or whatever they were bent on calling it all those ages ahead.

As soon as her father's disapproving sneer reformed itself inside her mind, she decided to focus back on her troublesome association with Darcy. She could not believe that they had gone out to buy clothes, of all things. Were they both suffering brain damage or something? Or were she just a bigger coward than she believed herself to be? The thought made her cringe and step further into the night, the now familiar house forgotten behind.

She would prove that she did not needed any help. She would prove that she was no coward and force Odin's cursed spirit to watch her thrive were he had fallen many times before. But, most of all, she would prove herself that she was no imitation of his vile acts.

She'd never forget the way he looked at her as if she was a mere tool of his to use. Nothing like the way he looked at his wife, who she thought loved her, but was only planing on breaking her heart on the long run.

It was what her husband wanted, after all, and he had taken great pleasure on telling her just that when they clashed for the first and last time, after his precious Valkyries had been laid to waste in front of his one-eye.

Maybe he got mad that she was better than any of his other toys? She wondered how mad he would become if he ever were to breathe again, only to find his precious "golden city" a huge mass of dust, and his sons but two eternal teenagers aiming for each other's throats, when she herself would be reborn on her own image, no longer one of his dolls.

It was almost enough to make her wish him back to life just to see his horrified face.

She closed her eyes and took in the nightly aroma. It made her a little dizzy, but nothing compared to what she had felt during the last parts of her trip to the city, when they had entered another store to buy the strange devices she was told to be called "phones".

She opened her eyelids and drifted her irises to the sky above. She saw heavy clouds approach a full white moon, and a soft smile took hold of her face. In a completely weird and roundabout way, Hela thought they made a great retelling of her life: a brilliant, abused and lonesome child circled by disturbing old people who pretended to know what was best, but only wanted to devour her flames.

The moon would shine again when they went away, she knew. It would finally rest from their pitiful menace, yet, just like herself, it would be shinning a light that wasn't it's own. It would be merely reflecting the light of a sun who was all too happy to steal everyone away from the moon.

It made her feel sick. It looked like she was destined to live under the shadow of another and to reflect the sparks of their selfishness onto someone else's head. It happened at first with her progenitors, then, even if for a thankfully short while, with both her siblings, and finally, it happened with Darcy at the shop.

Her attention was captured by the lone figure she saw walking ahead of her. It was a female, that much was clear, and she seemed t be quite younger than an adult, though not as young as the vendor from the cloth store. Her skin was slightly dark in a way that made her remember the mixture of coffee and milk Darcy had helped herself to when they had returned from their trip.

She wondered if it tasted as delicious as it looked.

She focused on the strange device that blocked both her ears. Was it the cause of the tranquillity the young woman appeared to exude? If so, could one of these ever distract her from her own maddening thoughts? It would be a lead, at the very least.

Regardless of the accuracy of her guess, she had to force her eyes away. The lights around were just too bright for them, and they were everywhere! They shone from the side of walls and from the floor and even from the top of some buildings. The damnable vehicles who raced through the street, as few as they were, had lights on, too. And, if she didn't know best, she'd say they were purposefully aiming for her eyes.

If someone told her they were made by those annoying Vikings, she'd believe it with no further ado. They had such a tremendous appetite for the most horrendous of things they came across from, after all. It was exactly why they were so drawn to her people, in the first place. She remembered a time in which they were addressed as "gods" by the Midgardians. It pleased Odin so much that he made it official, even though he always made sure to deny any claims that he had anything to do with it, of course.

She couldn't comply too much, though. It was what saved her life when that blasted giant pierced her with his blade. Or at least that's what she believed, anyway. It wasn't like Mistress Death was open with all her motives, after all.

How low would her image be degraded in the eyes of said Vikings if they were to know what had become of her life? An almost death by the hands of a burning giant and a deal with Death herself orchestrated by the hands of her own insecurities and hollowed desires. Oh, and it was best not to forget the humiliating way in which she found herself in the care of a meek brat.

It was cruel of her to think of the woman who offered her dirty hands a way out of her hole - if only to feed her ego and play pretend -, she knew, but it was a truth, nonetheless. How old was she, anyway? Did the alluring beauty she had been absently following on the streets surpass her age, even though she didn't looked like it?

Suddenly, she felt the sting of something crawling inside her right arm and hissed under her breath. She saw the female look behind her shoulders just before she forced her eyes at what seemed to be black snakes sliding underneath her skin.

They twisted and turned, as if to break out from a cage she never meant to create, and she wondered if they would find success at the end of their fight. The mere thought of it sent unforgiving shivers through her core.

It was bizarre, though, how meeker they hurt compared to what she believed they should. It was enough for her to press herself against the cold walls of a building, though. She gripped her arm hard and tried to focus on something; anything that made it's presence know to her eyes. Even the lights would be welcomed at the time.

But the city seemed to mock her, for not even a single transport passed by on the streets. The lights seemed suddenly devoid of all their bright and the colors of their lure, almost as if their essence was robbed and plundered into something hidden in a place she just could not reach.

"A-are you alright?" She heard the uncertainty drip from the voice that stammered beside her, and the sudden smell of raw luxury invaded her lungs. It made her head throb and her legs shake so much it was a wonder how she even had the courage, not to mention the power, to face her temptress.

She was a cuter girl than she realized, too. Brown eyes, drowned in fearful concern; lips half parted as if to suck in the lips of a long-unseen lover; nose tilted as if to smell the lustful aroma that intoxicated her quite willing victims...

Oh, such a gorgeous female she was!

She had the sudden urge to touch her pretty face and to taste those appetizing lips. Her hand moved on it's own account and the girl took a step back in alarm. Had she seen it? The hunger that bathed her stare? The maddening desire to ravish her body of it's garments, throw her back down on the ground and devour every small piece of her being!?

Oh, how good wouldn't such a sweet young thing taste against her tongue! It made her whole self-delirious in pure bliss and utterly lost to all of her vices. If her mere aroma made her so tasty, then what about the rest? What about the softness of her throat? And the puckered flesh of her lips? And the pointy ends of her ears? And the red of her cheeks? Oh, she couldn't wait to experiment the taste of her soul! To bite it off her body and suck it raw of her severed limbs!

The anticipation was driving her crazier by the second!

And so she sew her eyes, threw her arm to her side, and, just as the girl gave another feeble step behind, she brought her hand back down onto her thigh and embedded the formed dagger deep on her own flesh.

She let out a painful grunt and locked gazes with the dark-skinned girl. There was no shame on her voice when she opened her mouth to curse her for being such a fool as to approach her on her most dangerous self, but the words failed her as the hunger started to crawl back into it's rightful place.

"Move!" She hissed instead. She forced herself to make the blade longer and to carve it deeper when all she got in response was a shocked stare. " **Get away from me!"** She screamed in rage. Had she not being so focused on controlling her anger, she would had noticed the extra layers that fused themselves with her voice.

And the woman finally moved. She sprinted away as if her life depended on the amount of times her feet kicked down against the ground. And Hela knew that it actually did. She had no doubts that, were she to stay there with her for a second too long, all pretenses of self-control would be thrown out the window as she savored her flesh and bones and her very soul!

Her back hit the ground and she let out a shaky breath as she stared to the clouds above. The moon was already gone now, and she could almost feel the first droplets of rain about to descent. The scene made her remember the time she spent with Mistress Death. She missed the way her head had felt rested above the female's knees. She'd trade her pained leg for it at any given time, she knew.

But, then again, what wouldn't she trade for that ounce of peace, anyway?

A long time had passed when she finally decided to get up from the floor. Her thigh had stopped hurting for a while, but all it did was to remind her of how fragile her self-control was, and how little it would take to make her into a starving lunatic.

She limped her way back to the wall, all the while using her arms as support to drag herself back through the way to Darcy. It stabbed her very soul to realize how dependant on the woman she was, and how there was no viable way for her to overcome such weakness.

Her legs were shaky and her teeth gritted in frustrated pain. A pang of jealousy formed itself in her stomach and took a hold of her throat, forcing her to stop her movements to take in a long intake of air. She never thought she'd be jealous of a Midgardian, not to mention a Midgardian brat.

Her reveries were broken by the loud gasp she heard from somewhere close to her. Her eyes traveled forward on the pavement and widened themselves before the lone man who stood dazzled in front of her.

It was none other than the same man from the hotel room. A brown bag laid forgotten on the ground and his hands were close to his face in what she deemed as mock surprise. There was half a stick stuck beneath his mask, and time seemed to slow down as it feel to the floor, breaking against the solid ground.

"You're the less insane Angelina Jolie from the hotel!" He screamed and pointed at her. Was he some kind of child or what?

Her teeth gritted in pure annoyance, and she wondered how she'd escape the situation she let herself fall into. Could her night get any worse!? If she didn't knew better, she'd say Odin's spirit was chasing her around just to make sure every ounce of misfortune fell on top of her head. It certainly would explain some stuff.

She tried to conjure a blade, but felt too drained by her hungry struggle to focus properly on the task. Her body shook with a wave of unadulterated dizziness and she had to brace herself fully against the wall. It didn't take long for the black dust to snake down her fingers and fall down onto the sidewalk.

"Now, just wait a second so we can have a nice, little chat" he sounded weird speaking around the remains of the stick she knew to be inside his mouth. Regardless, she was no moron to take his words at face value. She did not trust him at all. Sure she had found herself in a similar situation regarding Darcy and the way they met, but there was just something about the man that didn't bode well with her.

That's why, when he looked down to his bag, she used the last bit of her strength to throw a blade at his head. She was surprised when he crouched down to rummage through it's contents, and stared helplessly as her blade flew past him and disintegrated before it could even touch the ground.

She felt her core shake as her vision blurred so much she was mesmerized that she did not puke. But she knew that there was no time to lose, and so she turned around and gave her best to limp away from the man, completely abandoning the walls for what she thought to be a better mobility. Not that she was in any condition to move properly, though.

"This is **so** not how I remember it!" She heard him scream from somewhere at her back. So he had seen the blade, after all. Was he really so stupid as not to check on her to see if she was running away? It was not like he knew of her predicament, right? No. She knew what he was doing. He was mocking her. He knew there was just no way for her to run away - no way for her to escape.

The truth behind her thoughts was humiliating beyond belief. Hela, Odin's ex-executioner and the Goddess of Death - for real that time -, running away from a crazy Midgardian dressed in what she thought to be the second most ridiculous outfit ever created.

It almost made her glad that pretty much all Asgardian warriors were long since dead - plenty by her own hands, too. Otherwise, the shame of such predicament leaking out would surely be her downfall. If she ever survived enough to face such mockery, that was.

"Oh, shit!" He was so much louder than before. Why couldn't he just shut up!? How much did he need to humiliate her like that!? "Wait a minute! I just wanna talk!"

She could hear the urgency of his footsteps and urged her legs forward faster and faster, paying little mind to the pain that began to crawl out of her thigh. It proved to be a crucial mistake when her legs gave in not a full minute later.

She lost her equilibrium and knelt down on the middle of the street with a loud gasp. Her shallow breathing penetrated her ears with the gentle caress of a nail scratched against a blackboard. She had wished for that exact kind of pain back there with the young dark-skinned girl, but she never thought her wishes would come true at the least unfortunate time. But, in the end, Hela couldn't bring herself to feel overly surprised by the fact. Things weren't all that good for her since her young days, after all.

"Shit!" She heard his scream and forced herself back to her feet. She fumbled a little with her legs as she twisted her body around to face him, but stopped dead on her tracks when she saw him draw a weapon similar to the ones Skurge took great pride in. It seemed way smaller than his 'babies', though, and she caught herself wishing for it's damage to be equally smaller than her executioner's.

An utterly relieved breath almost escaped her mouth when she saw him aim the thing far away to her side. What kind of damage could he cause her if he couldn't even target her with his weapon, anyway? Sadly, the loud noise that came from the same side made her swallow all hopes and for her head to snap around on it's own.

She was faced with the two glaring lights of a fast approaching vehicle and closed her eyes tight in anticipation of the inevitable collision.

She heard profanities leave the man's mouth just before a gunshot invaded her ears. Her heart pumped faster and faster to a point she thought it would leave her chest for it's own nefarious purposes.

The crash came, and she felt a great weight leave her at once. It was like leaving all worries and insecurities behind, if only for a second. There was the pain, too, but nothing she had never felt before.

Then it was all quiet, and the unbelievable softness beneath her head told her exactly where she truly laid.


	15. The Depths Of The Soul, part 1

**Disclaimer: The characters and locations present in this work are not of property of Zvezda616. They are all property of Marvel and of their respective authors. What is my own (Zvezda616, you douches) though are the plot ideas, the original characters and the original places/locations that may or may not appear in this work.**

 **AN: Hello, my dear readers! First of all, I want to thank you for all the support and for the 3k600 views we got on this little project of mine! Thanks again to everyone who followed, favourited and reviewed this story, too. You guys made me smile! (Even the bad review made me feel good. Yeah I'm kinda strange like that)**

 **As a second, I want to apologize for my month-long absence. To be 100% honest with you all, I wasn't only focused on this story and that is why it took me so long to update. I had a few crazy ideas about how I wanted to continue this work and about a few other characters and stories I want to insert into this "universe", and I decided to try it out. Some ended up bad and I simply left the idea behind (and also 2 weeks of my time _ ) but the final result pleased me, for now I have the entire planning of Forsaken Howls (will be posted this month) complete, and the next Arche of Down With The Fallen, too. We will only have one more after that, I presume.**

 **Now, enough about my babbling and bullshits. I hope you enjoy this chapter and know that I missed you all!**

 **Love, Zvezda616!**

 **PS: By the way, this chapter wasn't betaed. I did ask my lover *swoons* to read it and say what she thought about it, but I did not ask her to search for mistaken words or the likes, so, yep, unbataed.**

 **PPS: It came to my attention that one chapter, back from the first arch, was mistakenly doubled in a way that both chapters were the same. The mistake was taken care of, and now the Chapter 4 of the First Arch is as it should have been.**

* * *

 **Arch 3: Howls of Yore  
** **Chapter 2 - The Depths Of The Soul, part 1**

He had no idea what the fuck he was doing in life by that point. Failure after failure, he had to at least do something right...or so he believed when he left his hotel room to buy some "real food", and ended up buying a bag full of candies instead.

 _Hey, in my defense, they weren't really that expensive!_

His boots had just left the convenience store when he felt the first droplet of rain on his shoulders. He resisted the urge to sigh. The fuck was wrong with his luck? He wasn't living in fucking Storybrooke, for crying out loud!

A mirthless chuckle left his mouth as he crossed the street, though. There was just no way he could go back to his hotel room with nothing but candies to eat. And the hotel food was just as bad as hospital food. Maybe it was an "h" thing? Sure as hell seemed so, if anyone cared for his sight on things, that is.

He shrugged and use on of his hands to move his mask up his face just enough for him to insert a pocky in his mouth. Vanessa was the one who liked such things...Maybe he should just stop eating them altogether.

 _And today, on Wade Wilson's worldly praised counselling program, I, Deadpool himself, present you with a harsh, yet bottom-hearted statement: Fuck you and your ideas that some asshole can ever deprive you of the things you love. And I fucking love these shits!_

His eyes were fixed on the sidewalk when a pair of legs presented itself in front of him. They were attached to a female brunette whose head was facing the other way. What captured his attention, though, was the wound that bled from one of her tights.

He caught the reflection of her face on a puddle and let out a gasp as his bag fell down to the floor. It was the same freaking psycho who had literally buried him in the wall by the use of a spear she might as well have pulled outta her own ass!

Everything from there was but a terrible blur to his memories, though. He screamed, she tried to stab him - again - and then ran away from him while he crouched down to pick back his bag and shouted and followed her across the street. And then there was a car suddenly speeding in her direction and he had but a second to draw his pistol and aim for the driver.

He hit the car, but not nearly close to the window. Maybe it would've been a better idea to aim for a tire, but he had no time to try again, for as soon as the bullet hit it's mistaken spot, the brunette was thrown above the car roof like a sack of rotten tomatoes.

She fell down on the street with a thud, and he couldn't help but empty his clip on the vehicle's rear. He broke a window or two, but was sure that he did not hit the driver at all. The right tire at the back would need to be replaced, though. Hopefully, the asshole would die in a car crash.

 _What? One can always be positive, can't one?_

The car speeded away as if it wasn't responsible for the quite likely murder of an innocent woman. Bastard probably had no remorse about what he had done or even done so on purpose. The fuck was he doing driving that fast, anyway? Fucking drunk teenagers!

He sprinted fast to where the woman had fell on the street. His eyes took in the blood leaking out of her mouth, and a chill sprinted up his spine. Blood coming out of one's mouth was never, ever, ever a good sign. It was only when he took off his gloves and tried to feel for a pulse that he realized he had dropped his bag of candies for the second time that night - _Okay, so maybe I don't love pockies_ _ **that**_ _much_ \- but all he managed to feel was the icy coldness of her skin.

A frown took control of his face when he failed to feel for any intakes of breath, too, and his head hung down in shame. If he hadn't startled her in the first place, then she wouldn't be dead and his lead wouldn't be totally gone. It was all his fault again.

It hurt him far deeper than when it happened to Vanessa, too, for it wasn't out of thin air. They were in a relationship for a long while - or at least **he** was - and it wasn't even real to begin with! Fuck, her betrayal still made him feel sick whenever he thought about it. But what had just transpired with the brunette was real and it was sudden and his sole fault. He had hurt an innocent person because he was the same inconsiderate asshole his mother once told him he'd become.

 _At the very least she is dead and gone never to bother anyone ever again. I made sure of that, I swear!_

His stomach curled in itself and he had but a second to rip off his mask and vomit on the streets. The combination of Vanessa and his mother's abuses felt far worse to his health than the fucking burgers they served at McDonald's, and those things were fatal!

He took a while to recompose himself, but made sure to took the female in his arms when he did so. Her arms felt limp at his side as he carried her bridal style to the sidewalk. It reminded him of the time in which he had taken the other female in his arms and roped the very same brunette to his back with the remains of a dead animal.

The thought made a sad smile take hold of his lips.

He laid her down on an alley across the sidewalk, where he knew she would be safe from any car or overbearingly curious pedestrians who might or might not end up misunderstanding the situation, and sat down by her side.

It had been far too long time since he had really cried, but he couldn't force back the tears when they were already burning his eyes. The whole poetry of the situation, the sheer irony of what he had done - of what he had caused - was their sole trigger, he knew, but it always hurt him when he messed up the way he had just did.

Maybe it was time to let it all out, after all.

Hela saw the bony face way before she tasted the iron on her tongue. She resisted the sudden desire to wince when the taste became a little too overbearing for her dizzy senses.

Death was looking down on her again, but not in a bad way. She was just there, looking below. Her bones and her mantle looked darker than she remembered, but her eyes remained the same.

Her scent was the best feature of her, though. It didn't smelled appetizing, nor did it smelled foil. It smelled of home, and that was a scent she was didn't believe to have ever scented before she met her, to begin with.

"I've missed you" the words left her mouth before she could choke down down her throat.

"I know" She saw a small smile appear on Death's bony face. Of course she didn't miss her, too. She tried to avert her eyes, but a warm hand stuck her head in place. "That's why I visited you"

What was she talking about? Had they seem each other somewhere? The only thing that came to mind was that woman with the strange smell at the shop and- "The window" she breathed out. How could she forget?

"Hmnnn" She murmured in agreement.

"Then you saw" It wasn't an accusation, but, by the way Death's eyes lost their bright, Hela knew that she wasn't happy with it.

"Don't dare use that tone again" her words were raspy and dangerously cold, as if a warning not to be provoked. She felt her eyes widen at the pang of hurt and guilt that shook her to the core.

Words failed her for a while, and, by the time she readied herself to speak, the entity interrupted her speech with no regard for what she had to say.

"I hate how deep it's buried into your soul that you don't even realize the way you speak of yourself" what did she mean? What have she done wrong? She knew it was just a matter of time until she made mistakes again, but - "It sickens me to hear how disgusted you sound of yourself"

Had she really meant it like that? It hurt her deep down to realize that yes, she had meant it. She had no self esteem for herself, even though she exuded a persona of raw narcissism and pure tenacity. It was but a mask made of pretences much like the one she wore together with Darcy but a day before.

"I-I don't..." she stammered. What could she ever say to that? How could she ever defend herself, when she was the weapon in the hands of her own offender? When she was but a victim of herself?

"You really don't get it, do you?" Warmth invaded her eyes again. She let out an exasperated breath, as if dealing with a child who had no idea what meaning drove her words. And the goddess couldn't find a good reason for it to be untrue.

"I know what it is that you desire, Hela" She continued, seeking to twin their gazes in a maze. "More than the things you told be before, you lust for after no disaster can touch you anymore, and hope to never fall where enough is not the same it was before."

"But" her words became softer, almost if sadness burdened her voice. "Above all the lust you have for salvation lies a titanic lust for something you're crazy to obtain."

"You lust for me, my child"

The goddess' eyes burned and averted to the dark clouds above. She knew it was true. She knew that she wanted to cease to exist - to leave it all behind to finally have the peace she earned for. And if she abandoned herself to rust, would anyone feel her loss? Would anyone miss her? They surely didn't did so before.

A glimpse of lonely eyes flashed before her eyes, and she let out a shaky breath. Darcy...what would she think of her if she knew she earned for her own demise? Would the woman recent her for the lengths she had to put herself through for her? Would she miss her?

No. She'd miss her company, mayhaps. But not her - not the goddess she was. She had admitted to be afraid of her before, hadn't she? And, if she really enjoyed her company, why would she wear a mask like her own?

That was not to say Hela didn't enjoy the girl's company a bit. She wasn't overjoyed by it, of course, but it was a nice change of scenario from what she knew before. It would all end when they dropped their disguises, though.

The realization that, if she were to die, she would actually miss the woman hit her with no small amount of anguish. And, as her dripping eyes moved back to gaze at Death's own, she knew that Darcy wasn't the only one that she would miss.

But, as much as she felt her heart break inside her chest, she also knew that they were not enough. They were just not enough to make her want to live anymore. Would Death even be away from her if she died, anyway? And what about Fenris? What if he were there, just waiting for her?

"You've been staring at the clouds and at my eyes for far too long" Death's voice surprised her, and she was slightly disturbed to feel a small burning on her cheeks. It wasn't like she meant to do it. "But we are not the only things here, you know?" She did know. But they were what gave her comfort. They were her safety. She couldn't leave them, or she would be afraid again - she would be alone again.

 _Darcy_.

"So" she continued, unaware or unperturbed by the realizations she forced deep down on Hela's core. "Why don't you take a look around, and tell me what it is that you see?"

She felt her eyes move before her brain could process what had been said. It wasn't the first time it happened around the entity, and she knew that it wouldn't be the last, too, but it still gave her a small taste of unease.

Her eyes drowned in the landscape as her mind twirled with thoughts of brown hair and lost eyes. She saw a lack of colours around, yet and abundance of what one could call a life. It was a wonder how such big a forest could be a part of her soul.

"You remember how it used to be, don't you?" Death's voice was but a breath against her ears. She could feel the woman's mouth touching her cheeks. When had they changed their positions, again? Was she so absorbed in thoughts and sights that she had not felt the way the woman had shifted their bodies? "Do you realize it, now, darling? Do you realize how despaired your soul is to live - how despaired _you_ are to breathe?"

"But I-"

"And yet you desire for me" interrupted once again. "I do understand why, you know? You're scared, child. Scared of others, scared of the few you had meet, but, most of all, scared of your own self."

She wanted to close her eyes right then and let the ground bury her to rot, and yet, her ears were drawn to the gentle voice and her hearth was so inviting of it's words she had trouble to breathe. She felt a hand snake around her torso and hug her from behind, fully pressing her back on the other woman's body.

"But" her mouth touched her earlobe. "It is not yet your time"

"What?" She was deeply confused. She remembered the car, the weapon, the sound - she remembered it all. Could she had survived them all? Were these vehicles far weaker than she originally thought? "But I died. How can it not be my time?"

"And who is it that said you died, my dear?"

"But..."

"You can't die, Hela. Not like that"

Her eyes widened again. It was much too normal a thing around the woman for her liking, but she had bigger worries on her mind then. What did she meant by it? She can't die like that? She was Asgardian, of course, but still, the way her body was weak, the way she craved for sustenance...how could she ever survive?

"It was you who accepted me as your power source, so why is it that you deny me now, child?"

"Is it that you think me a monster, even though you denied so before?"

"No!" Her voice came out raspier than she thought it would, and quite faster, too. There was a bubbling urgency that grew up from the pit of her stomach each time the woman mentioned that word. It was just too familiar for her to ignore.

"Is it that you believe me unworthy?"

"No! It's not that! It's just..." she trailed off and took deep breaths to calm her beating heart. She could feel the winds pick up their speed against her cheek and hear leaves crumble away from branches. It was a perfectly painted drawing of her core. "It's just that..."

"What is it, Hela? Why is it that you deny me?"

"It's because I don't wanna be a weapon anymore!" She closed her eyes and screamed. There was a vague memory on the far back of her mind of her saying the same words to the woman behind her, and a further carved memory of saying it out loud to the ones who fathered her, and the consequences of such a dare.

Death's blows, though, were far more pleasant than what she expected them to be. They were soft and tender, almost like the caress of a parent, only better and much more accommodating. Yet, at the same time, they were firm and strong, as if they feared and dreaded that she could ever escape from them.

It didn't take the goddess long to realize that Death's actions were not blows nor were they harmful hits. She was merely giving her a hug much stranger than any other she had ever received from her, or anyone else. It almost reminded her of the way Frigga used to hug her, long before Odin decided she was to be his tool.

"You are not a weapon, Hela" and her tired eyes pried open. She could still feel the woman's breath against her ear, but it was somewhat softer and disgustingly full of understanding. It bore the same voice tone she heard from the woman at the cloth store - the one who insisted on forcing a child to wear the orange monstrosity of a jacket.

It concerned her how much she thought of Death's features as motherly. She had no time to ponder about such things, though, for the woman had yet to finish her speech. Hela did not know if she interrupted her thoughts by accident or on purpose, but she was just too entranced to care.

"I told you before, didn't I? That I would like your help, but would never force you to do as I say?" It was true. She remembered that. "You are not a tool, Hela, and you'll never be. Not for me."

"I cannot promise you that they won't try to use you, dear, because I am sure that they will - I know they will. But, if you don't try; if you don't fight back, then you will be your own tool."

It hurt her soul to know that it was true. Many had made of her a tool, many had made of her a weapon, many had made of her a doll. But it was her lack of resistance - her lack of spirit and will - that kept her reprising such roles.

"But I feel so hungry..." she whispered. Would she be a tool of herself by default, if she were to act on such urges? What would be of her if she had attacked the kids outside Darcy's house? Could she ever forgive herself if she had? No. She couldn't. If she couldn't forgive herself for an 'almost', she was sure that she'd never be able to repent for a 'consummated deed'.

"And you'll feel like that forever if you don't feed"

She closed her eyes as the realization of her fears crashed down on her like a lightning bolt from high above the skies. If that was the case, then why should she move on? Why should she keep going, if she had to turn into what they always called her as? Why should she live, if she had to become the monster they made her?

"You are projecting, child." Death hugged her tighter. She could feel her cheeks mush against the woman's bones. It was a weird, yet comforting feeling. "You won't be disgusting if you feed of the souls of those who are filthy - you will only be cleaner. Some had called others with the same purpose 'saviours' and turned them into divinities even after they proved to be just as disgusting as their prey."

"But what if I become like that? What if I become disgusting like them?"

"You won't"

"And how would you know that?"

"I don't"

"Then-"

"But I believe in you, Hela, and for me, that is more than enough."

She couldn't had resisted pushing herself back against the entity's front if she wanted to. It was so...reassuring...to have someone said they trusted her - that they believed her -, that she did not know how to proceed. No one had told her so before.

"And I do know that I am not the only one who believes in you"

Darcy's awkward smile flashed through her head. It was concerning, too, how she was a recurrent thought of hers. There was something in the young woman that drew her in and, in some strange ways she couldn't comprehend, kept her hunger at bay.

"I was idle for eons, you see?" She continued. That particular phrase perked Hela's interest away from the turmoil of her thoughts. "I watched countless realities perish while I walked away just the same. I observed as many tried to stop their fate and many more tried to fasten it's wheels. And I never did a thing to interfere."

"Why?" She managed to rasp out. She could feel Death's eyes bore into her face and made sure that her own avoided their side. She coughed a little bit to clean her throat. "Why tell me?"

"Because I want to, of course." she felt the woman's chest moving against her back as she chuckled. "And because I grew distant of such meaningless cycle of doom, too."

"What-"

"Haven't you noticed it, Hela?" Her words were cut through once more. It if were anyone else, she knew her patience would've been long gone by then...but her curiosity was always a strong trait of hers, so she allowed such things with no ill thoughts. "How much I've been crumbling away from the eternal idle of mine? How much I've been interfering with things as of late? How selfish I've been?"

"It is not a coincidence, Hela. Nothing regarding me is anymore. Do you think you were the only one to summon me? To crave for me? To give themself for me? To go to ridiculous extents to please me?"

She felt silence overcome her limbs. What could she say? She hadn't thought of that, nor have she considered it all before, but she knew that she was not the first and wouldn't be the last.

"And yet, you are the one that I choose to seal a deal with. Why you think it needed to be you, Hela? Because you are a warrior, or Odin's firstborn or because of a petty title a bunch of mortals gave you? No, child, I choose you because you are the only one I can trust such a burden upon. Because I trust you won't fail me like they all would have."

"Why?" Her voice sounded small to her own ears. It felt like Death complimented her, but, at the same time, used her in ways she couldn't comprehend. It made her heart soar and her stomach curl. Was she to become but a pawn again? "Why does it has to be me?"

"Although they are few, my reasons are solid and irrefutable. But the main one - the one you really wish to know - is one that I am not yet prepared to reveal." The way she said that...the way her voice sounded like...it brought the goddess to a complete halt. Her bones felt cold and her very soul drenched itself in uneasiness and confusion. It didn't took long for the first drops of rain to touch her head.

"Why? Why can't you tell me? What is it that you don't wish to reveal?"

"I can't tell you because I am not prepared to, dear. Because I am scared of what you would think of me when you possess the knowledge that I do. But, most of all, because I'm selfish enough to deny you such a knowledge at the same time that I deny your pleas for an end to it all."

"I can promise you, though" she continued, and Hela had to force the bile down her throat. She was scared, too. Couldn't Death see it? Did she even want her to see it? "That nothing I have said or done to you was a lie. I can promise you, too, that you are not a tool, weapon or anything like that for me. You are who you are, and nothing other than that. And remember, my child, that I am a promise - a promise that is kept by everyone but two."

"We don't have much time, dear" Death's words were like a shock to her veins. They made her thoughts revert back to the entity and how much she craved for her not to leave again, even though part of her trust for her had crumbled with her omissions. "It would seem that, even though I was able to slow it down, yore is catching up with us far faster than I'd like it to. The past has a will of it's own, one could say."

"What do you mean?" She understood what her words meant, of course, but what kind of burden did they entail? Whose past was she referring to? Was it her own? And if it wasn't, did it entailed Odin? She couldn't stand the thought of living another part of her life underneath such disgusting shadow.

"There will be many hardships ahead of you, Hela" Death's eyes unfocused for a moment, as if they begged not to be disturbed - to be left to their inner thoughts. "But you have to fight them if you wish to survive. And the first one is the feeding."

"Your soul is too fragile, darling" the entity continued, cutting through her thoughts in a fashion that was all too familiar to the goddess. Once again her words gave her whole being a halt. "It tries to repair itself but you refuse to leave it be. You need to satisfy the hunger at least once, or your soul shall be forever damaged. I believe you think you understand what will happen when the cracks start to spread again, but you are wrong. You will not die if your soul gives in, Hela. You will be erased."

The brunettes' eyes grew wide and fearful. When she first saw Death she knew that there was something else after her own demise - that whatever it happens to be, it wouldn't put an end to her existence. But to be erased would be to cease to exist. And that frightened her far more than she'd ever will herself to show.

"If your soul ever gets as hurt as it now is, you will need to feed again, but It would take a tremendous effort of an outsider and a tremendous lack of will of yours to fight it back for it to happen."

"I'll do it" She whispered after a cold, hard pause. She could just make out the clouds in turmoil and the small, almost invisible cracks that spread across the skies. "I'll feed."

"The feeding shall repair you - body and soul - and leave behind an alluring power that won't ever cease to exist. It will make you crave for it again and again, and it is up to you to decide if you wish to fall victim of it's charms or to use whatever it is that you have."

"I trust you to do the right thing"

The goddess was about to speak once more when a blazing white light swept through the cracks and shone across the skies. It descended into her eyes and blinded her to the core. She could hear Death's muffled words against her ears, but couldn't bring herself to understand what they meant.

Suddenly all went dark, and she felt herself levitate away from the arms of Death. Her body felt light yet heavy, cold yet warm and so unusually peaceful and chaotic that she found herself losing the grip on what was real and what was a mockery of her own mind.

He felt tears cascading down his face and found himself unashamed that his mask did not hid his face anymore. For once the ugly mould of his face felt fitting to the ugly mould of his mind. It was rather uneasy how fragile his mind really was, but he couldn't bring herself to care anymore.

Why did everything had to be his fault? Every single bad thing that happened to him or to others near him ended up being related to some sort of his stupidity - Vanessa's betrayal excluded.

He felt guilty for leaving his friends behind, but what could he really do? It was just too painful to live in a place that was flooded by the memories of the woman who managed to hurt him the most.

Did they even understand it or did they just believe him to be a bad friend? Did they even consider him as a friend? They had all passed through so many shit together, and yet he chooses to left them all behind for selfish reasons and also for the sake of his own mind.

He actually was a bad friend, wasn't him? He could at least had told them he was moving or said why, but he chooses to run away from them. Heck, poor Dopinder must've felt so betrayed! And Colossus and the Missile kid would probably be really pissed off at him. And Cable...well, Cable could just go and fuck himself.

Fuck, if he had only thought about employing Domino full time and taking her with him, the brunette behind him wouldn't have been dead, he wouldn't have run into so many problems and nothing - nothing! - would be the same.

Who was the stupid moron who had the brightest idea of saying luck wasn't a super-power, again?

But, then again, Domino's luck would probably keep her far away from him and his bullshit, in the first place.

Another mistake of his was to use that damnable watch to travel in time an correct one too many mistakes - _you're welcome, X-men_. If he hadn't overused it, then he could use it to save the brunette. But it was, once again, another mistake of his that would haunt him from the top of his shoulders.

Now what was he supposed to do with the woman, anyway? He couldn't just leave her there! The city was too full of creeps and weirdos for him to do that. Not to mention that he owed her at least that much. It wasn't like the guy who died 'cause he spent too much time in the fucking telephone booth. That wasn't his fault! The guy was already going to get shot, anyway!

He let out a breath he didn't knew he was holding and used his gloved hands to dry the tears on his face. It wasn't time to cry. He would make damn sure that the woman had a proper burial - which would lead to him finding her friend, who would hopefully be Darcy Lewis, and not the other way around - and then he would be on his way.

A scoff escaped his throat not a minute later. He just had an "epiphany of good will" in which he realized what a douche he was and that he owed the dead woman, and yet he was already thinking of ways in which her death would be able to benefit him.

Maybe that Weapon X crap was more brain-damaging than he believed it to be. He would had to ask Logan later. It wasn't like they both didn't had time for it, being "immortal" 'n all.

" _Wade..._ " Speak of the Devil and she shall appear! Would that voice ever leave him be? What the heck did it want, anyway, appearing in the less fortunate times? Heck, if he didn't knew better, he would say that it was a ghost or some sort of crap. Didn't the Japanese believe in some kind of youkai that haunted some people's conscience? The proverbial Devil on one's shoulder, or whatever? " _You disappointed me"_

"You know what?" He screamed as he got up with a kick. The raspy tone of his voice managed to surprise him for a while. The anger that snaked around it, though, was the most familiar emotion to rush through his veins in a long time. "Get in the fucking line!"

So what if people thought he was crazy? They already did so, anyway. His face looked like a fucking rotten tomato, and his job was mainly to kill people! Who the fuck would even bother to approach him at all, but a full band of psychos or wannabe heroes!?

"You are just the fucking voice in my head!" He kept screaming. Who would judge him? The dead woman in the sidewalk? The fucking 'God' who never, ever, did a single good thing to help any fucking one? Or maybe the goody-two-shoes Steve Rogers, who just so happened to be a wanted criminal!? "So what if I disappoint you? Fan-fucking-tastic! I disappoint myself, too!"

So drowned he was in his screaming that he did not hear the soft coughs from behind. Instead, he focused on the falling waters and stretched his arms around as far as he could, as if presenting himself for a direct blow to his heart - a critical hit.

"What the fuck do you want from me!?"

The utter despair in his voice would had taken him back at any other moment, but it was how he felt. No. It was what he was - despaired. The taste of being nothing but a bundle of bad feelings and crippled emotions was too bitter to describe to anyone who never suffered through the curse of tasting it first hand.

"For the sake of Odin's disgusting eyes, don't you ever shut up!?"

The voice came from behind and made him lose his footing. His heartbeat pounded in his ears and the corners of his eyes blackened for a moment. Who the fuck had just screamed so close to him?

Fuck!

He turned around, ready to give the woman - or transvestite - a piece of his mind, but found no one to direct his indignations at. Just as he was about to put it in the "strange voices that sound in my head ever since they mind-raped me" category, he noticed the brunette's dead body wasn't as dead anymore. It was quite full of live, if the way her furious eyes narrowed at him was anything to go by.

"You're a fucking regenerative-factored mutant!?" He couldn't help but scream at her. Was all his self-induced pain, his wholesome epiphanies and his shit ton of guilt all for naught? "Why didn't you fucking tell me that, you psychopathic bitch!?"

"Maybe because, just like always, I have no bloody idea what to make of all the crap that leaves your mouth?" And she dared flare her eyes white on him! The nerve!

She paid no mind to the all the wailing and nonsense that proceeded her words. Instead, she forced all her concentration to her arms and used them to lift her up to her feet. The sidewalk protection borders were a great help, too.

The scents were tuned down to a faint presence, and for a second she thought Death had done something to help her, after all. But the ever-present hunger buried inside her core and the cascading rain above told her otherwise. If anything, her hunger deepened with an urgency she had never felt, even in battle.

"So?" She heard him extend the last letter like a petulant child would, and had to control herself not to get stuck in an eternal eye roll. Did he really believe making it longer would drag her attention any better? "What the hell did just happen to you?"

"Before or after you tried to harm me with that little stick of yours?" She pointed to his sheathed gun. It was but a way to gain her time, though, and she hoped he fell for it.

"Harm you!?" Her eyes widened at the outburst. What was he so incredulous about? "Why the fuck would I want to shoot you with a fucking gun, when all I wanted was to fucking talk with the motherfucking you!"

"Are you a virgin, or what?" She couldn't help but comment. Once a war commander told her attacking someone before they could break through your defences had a better chance of success if your attempt was retarded and utterly lacking of common sense. She finally realized how right he was.

"What? No! Of course not! Why would you think that?"

"We have spoken for less than five minutes and you had used the word 'fuck' and it's variants probably more than you had taken time to breathe. Only a virgin or a nymphomaniac would be so obsessed with it."

He opened his mouth to scream some childishly futile comeback, but stopped midway, as if finally realizing her intentions. She saw the way his eyes narrowed and he let out the longest of breaths she had seen since she last presence a teenager's tantrum. Did he suffer from some childhood trauma? The more she spent time with him - the thought itself gave her the creeps -, the more she believed it to be true.

"Look, lady." The annoying voice was gone, to be replaced by a tired one. He suddenly seemed far older than she believed him to be. It could had been the fault of whatever had happened to his face, though. Hard to know which parts of it were wrinkles and which were damaged. "You are the one who ran away for no reason in the first place, so just do us both a favour and tell me once and for all if you are Darcy Lewis or not, and then we can both go our ways, alright?"

She took a minute to consider his words. He had known exactly which one of them were Darcy Lewis back at the room she woke up in, and yet he insisted in doubting his own judgment for whatever reason. It didn't bode well with her, though. She despised to be taken for a mere fool - to have her intelligence tested by such simple techniques.

That is why she chose not to lie. She knew what she had to do to heal her broken bones and any damage he could ever manage upon her, but what would happen if it ended up fastening her "erasing"? Death had mentioned something about the past having a will of it's own, after all.

But saying the truth would demand a bigger, better answer. One that would end up putting a giant target on Darcy's head, and that she couldn't permit. She owed the girl as much after being welcomed into a home that wasn't hers and being offered beverage she dare not pretend to deserve.

She scoffed mentally at how pathetic the notion was. What would the girl ever think if she discovered her neck was saved by a cup of "coffee"? Not like she'd ever had that knowledge, at least.

"I am not" She shook her head to rid herself of the blur. "But I do not know where she went, too. I fell unconscious while aiming for a cover, and woke beside something I believe to be a trash deposit. Never saw her again after that."

"You anaemic, or something?" She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes as he promptly got his hands up into a peaceful stance. "Woah, woah, I just meant that you are quite pale and fragile for someone who just regenerated herself from certain death."

"Oh man" he dragged the word this time, after a long pause. She saw him rub his face with both hands and pace around like a bird searching for it's underground prey. "What am I gonna do now? I need to find that girl!"

"Why is it that you want to find her so much?" She received a blank stare from between the fingers he spread all over his own face. "If you permit myself to inquire, of course."

"It's a job" his shoulders slumped. "I got a phone call of someone telling me to track her down. And I was so close at the forest, too!"

"And what is it that they intend to do to her after she is found?"

He stopped his movements to crouch down on the pavement, probably in search of his mask.

"I don't know. But I don't believe it to be anything bad, if that means anything to you. They seemed quite nice on the phone...if you ignore the rude way they hung on my face, that is."

"I was tortured by a man who all deemed to be 'nice', 'loving' and 'caring'. One's appearances aren't such great character-judging tools, I believe. Furthermore when you merely heard their voice to begin with."

"Well" he breathed out, picking up his mask and wiggling it around as if to get rid of the water that drenched it's insides. "I guess you're right."

"It's not like I can contact whoever that crazy woman was, anyway"

She resisted the urge to widen her eyes. That probably meant Darcy would be safe for a while. But exactly how much of his speech was a truth and how much was a lie?

"Why is it that you keep looking for her, then?"

"I wasn't looking for her tonight, to be fair" he wore his mask at once. She could see the 'river' of water drip down his neck and onto his torso. Was he so anxious to hide his face that he'd go through it? More an more the dots connected in her head. "I was buying things to eat after my next job. But then I ran into you and you ran from me, and the car ran you, and I ran after you, and then you ran me away and here we are, running out of time."

"Other job?" She'd leave the other comments for later. He was right about the time, though, for her stomach had begun to burn, and she knew not how long she would be able to control herself when even the faintest wind brought the delicious scents of life.

"Oh, I'm a mercenary. Got a job card and a twitter account 'n everything." He tapped his hands to his chest. Was he proud of the twister or whatever it was? "I follow Hello-Kitty on it, though, so people don't really take me serious, you know?"

"You mentioned you had a 'next job'?" Somehow she knew that inquiring about that 'Hello-Kitty' thing wouldn't be such a great idea.

"Yeah, yeah" he sounded dismissive, but it might've been the cold. His clothes were drenched, after all. She wondered if her own clothes would survive the downpour at all, since they weren't supposed to be worn in such climates. She flinched slightly at the thought of the disappointment that would be sure to shine through Darcy's eyes. "I just have to kill some stupid thugs who have been kidnapping some women on town and may or may not be rapists - and, if you want my personal opinion, they are indeed rapists."

The description gave her pause. Rapists? They were undeniably the worse kind of scum she could think of, and, if she played her cards right, she'd probably have a whole lot of them to feast upon. Yet, could she trust any word that left the man's mouth? He didn't seemed like the most mentally stable person to be around. Sure her past actions regarding him were quite precipitated now that she thought about it - not only the dagger stabbing ones -, but to trust him was different than not to be hostile towards him.

"Why do you care, anyway?"

She blinked and took a shaky breath. She could still feel the taste of blood in her mouth, even though it was long gone. Her thigh did not hurt as much as it should, though. To be fair, her whole body should hurt from the impact she had gone through before unconsciousness claimed her whole.

"Not only curiosity, I admit. It is often a good thing to know about the careers of those you know." That was the last time to reconsider her words. She didn't. "Plus, I do have an unfathomable urge for punishment, and who better to punish than a group of rapists?"

"Look, lady" his eyes narrowed. She wasn't sure if the eyes on his mask should behave like that, but Midgard was a strange place she wasn't about to fully comprehend, anyway. "If you're fishing for a way in, then find yourself another job. This one isn't going to pay you at all."

"Not good at sharing finances, are we?"  
"Doesn't matter how good you share, zero is still 'nada' at the end of the day"

"A mercenary who works for free isn't that much of a mercenary now, is him?" She couldn't help but underlay some sarcasm in her tone. She remembered calling him a 'wannabe hero'. Maybe she was quite more correct than she believed herself to be?

"Not if the job isn't assigned by the mercenary himself, no" He pulled out one of his guns and loaded it with what she believed to be ammunition. Skurge had called them 'the eggs of catastrophe'...for some reason. "And, before you ask, I'm doing this for the kids."

She gave him a strange look. Never would she believe him to be one to fight for children, of all things. But, then again, she had done the same back at "her" room at "Darcy's" place.

"I know I don't look like it, but I'm not a fan of child abuse." Another mental note. "Heck, a woman once called me a child molester 'cause my face looked like the scrotum of a geezer monkey."

"Is that why you are so hell bent on hiding it?" His neck twisted around so fast she believed he had managed to break it on his own. Her left eyebrow threatened to jump off her forehead when all he did was stare. "What?"

"What you mean what!?" He waved his hands in front of his face like a maniac. "I wear that mask because it is quite cool, thank you very much, not to mention it protects me from the weather!"

"It looks dumb and is far more drenched than a river deep."

"Yeah, but it still hides this shit!" He rolled up the bottom part of it enough to show his nose and then let it drop back. "And it **is** cool!"

"Then you should be content that you can hide that which you find ugly about yourself"

A tense silence took hold of them. Even the rain seemed considerate enough not to break it. The man wasn't, though, and turned his back to the brunette, slowly marching away.

"Come on, sunshine!" He screamed over his shoulders. "Those thugs won't kill themselves!"

She let him go for a few seconds and shook her head. What had she put herself into? Maybe dealing with Death had disrupted her brain far more than she felt comfortable to admit. She only hoped it wasn't the man's presence that did it, though, for if it was contagious, she'd have a hard time controlling her hunger.

What was the jester's name, again?

She wasn't sure what it was that woke her up, but she had lost count of how many times she had rolled around the bed. There was no doubt that, were things to remain the same, she'd pass the long hours 'till sunrise tossing and turning like crazy.

The soft sound of the rain outside the windows made her think back to the day her mother called her. In a way, it was what had chained all the crap that happened afterwards. She wouldn't be up there in the hill if it wasn't for that phone call, nor would she be hit by Hela's "warm welcome". But, if those statements were to be validated, she'd had to think back to years prior to her even meeting Jane Foster and Erik Selvig. She'd had to think back to that dark, lone door and the hours she spent trapped behind it's frame.

The thought made her swallow a mouthful of dryness. She coughed a few times and sat on the bed. Tiny goosebumps spread through her naked arms, and it took her a while to decide if they were caused by the lack of warmth of her room, or by the coldness of her memories.

The old floorboards cracked as she made her way out of the door. It let out a whine, but she was far more interested on satisfying her thirst than in the eerie sounds. She hoped they wouldn't end up waking up the brunette, though. It would be a pain in the ass to deal with her so early in the day.

She was just passing said brunette's door when a strange thought gave her pause.

She would be a royal pain in the ass were she to wake up. But what if she weren't asleep to begin with? What if she couldn't bring herself to, or had been woken by something else, just like she was herself?

One moment passed as she considered the weight of her actions. Should she really interfere with the other's sleep? She doubted that she'd be well received if she did so, but there was just something not boding well with her over the whole thing. It was that constant sense of dread she had felt ever since she managed to convince her not to leave.

A deep breath was all the encouragement she needed to face the door and creep it open with care. The sight that greeted her wasn't all that surprising, but the meaning of it made her eyes widen and her shoulder take refugee on the door frame.

Hela wasn't there. All that denounced her once presence was an empty and surprisingly tangled bed.

She convinced herself to believe the woman had gone to the bathroom or went outside to clear her thoughts. Asgardians were strange like that, weren't them? They were supposed to do stupid things like break a mug as a sign of good will and went out on walks after midnight in the middle of the rain...right?

Half an hour of waiting combined with the search of every thinkable corner of Jane's house later, though, reality finally seemed to caught up with her, and she couldn't help but let out a breathless whimper as her hands supported her against the sink.

Hela was gone.

She had left her, too. Just like everyone else.

What hurt her the most was that she couldn't even blame the woman for her choice. Fuck. She was an Asgardian warrior - the mythologic Goddess of Death, for crying out loud! Why would she wish to spend her time with her, a mere shut-in Midgardian female, who couldn't even bring herself to stop running from her own shit?

It did hurt her the way Hela choose to leave, though. After all she had done for her - all that she had almost done to her -, she just went away in the middle of the night as if nothing mattered at all! Was she really so pissed at her for taking her out to buy some clothes? Was that why her eyes seemed so dark when they walked down the streets?

Her eyes burned and she had to reposition her body to dry away her tears. A small bottle fell down from one of her pockets and burst open against the kitchen's floor. It spilled all it's contents on the ground, unashamed by the mess it made.

Looking down at the pills, she couldn't keep his mother's words out of her head. The condescending ways she told her it was all her fault - that she was the one to blame for what happened. That it was her who made him do what he did.

That it was her fault that her father was an abusive freak who used her to vent out his frustrations when his precious wife couldn't give him what he felt he deserved, or when his boss didn't give him the payment that he needed, or whenever the fuck he wanted to!

That she was the one to blame for the way her feet slipped down the edge and she fell down on that fucking river!

And she had the fucking balls to say it was her fault that he had left them behind for a younger, more beautiful whore than she was!

Would she ever understand how terrifying it was to force herself into that damnable closet when he was home, so that he wouldn't be able to find her? How disgusting it was to fear your own father would rape you if your mother refused to give him what he wanted, even though he never did so?

She shook her head to clear away the thoughts, but her eyes were transfixed by the pills. They gave her an idea she had thought long dead, but always feared to come back and haunt her.

But just how many of them would she need to go through with it? Two? Three? Twenty Four? Would they even work for her purpose, or merely serve as another weapon against her already damaged self?

And what if Hela went back and found her in time? The thought made a watery smile spread on her face. As if the woman would ever go through the trouble of going back when she had already went through all the shit it must've been for her to leave without a noise.

What if they didn't work, though? She wouldn't have the guts to go through with her plan later if they didn't, and they were sure to leave some sort of sequel she wouldn't be thrilled to live with.

But if they weren't going to kill her, then what would?

Her eyes caught her own reflection on the glass doors of the cupboard. Her hair looked like she had been hit by a truck and her eyes were all red and puffy. She would have a giant black mess across her face had she bothered to put on some make-up the day before.

There was a knife on top of the kitchen's table not too far from her. It was shaped and sharpened in ways that made it's handler make the deepest of cuts on the hardest of meats. It was the perfect butcher knife.

Her legs were unnaturally shaky as she walked to the table. They trembled and almost gave in when she finally reached it, but her arms were all the support she needed.

There was a loud noise in her ear, and it took her long enough to be wielding the knife on her right hand to understand that it was but the beating of her own heart. Shouldn't she be more used to it after all the crap that happened to her, anyway?

Looking at the blade in her hand, though, she had to force her own arms to move. Had it been as hard the first time? It was hard to know when all that she could remember was the way her back felt against that woman's car.

Another thing her mother blamed her for.

Well, at least she'd never have to suffer through any of her bullshit ever again.

She closed her eyes and held the knife with both hands. She pointed it to her throat and counted down from three. The weight of the world was suddenly deposited on her tongue, though, and she had to let go of the idea.

She felt her legs almost give in. There was just too much air inside her lungs at once, and then there was just too much air outside and then there was hear heartbeat skyrocketing and the sweat that poured from her hands like water.

Fuck, she had to brace herself against the table with one hand and almost dropped the knife from her single-handed grip. She gave herself no time to regret her choices, though, and used all her will to try and pierce the knife against her own throat.

A hand captured her right wrist in an almost bone-breaking grip just as the blade's tip brushed against her skin. An unholy coldness crept up her spine when the hand squeezed it harder and made the knife drop down to the floor with a loud metallic noise.

She felt a chest press up against her back and a voice that one haunted her nightmares whisper harsh words against her ears:

"I don't think you should do that, child"


	16. The Depths Of The Soul, part 2

**Disclaimer: The characters present and/or mentioned in this story, as well as any places and events that already existed are all copyrights of their respective creators and owners. This means the original plot ideas, the original characters, places and any other sort of original material present here is of my own creation, yet I make no money with them. If you like the story or want to support me, simply review or favourite it. If you really like it, then say you love me or something.**

 **TW: Mentions of child abuse; parental neglect, depression, suicidal thoughts, self-depreciation, mental illness, graphical violence, gore, cursing and mentions of drugs.**

 **WARNING: This chapter has scenes that may be classified as "disturbing" for many readers, and they are signalled by their respective "Trigger Warning" (TW) just before they start. You won't lose much if you wanna skip them, so don't worry about it. To do so, simply skip to the next "##" mark (without the quotes).**

 **This will be a thing if other scenes of the kind appear. To know if a scene is simply "out of ordinary" or "down right disturbing", check out for the Warnings just before it begins.**

 **Hello, my cuties! I'm finally back with another update to Down With The Fallen! Now, before I continue, I wanna thank you all for your support. We have reached four thousand, four hundred and fifty-five views as I write this! Now, some of you might think "meh", but for me, every single view counts, so, yeah, I'm happy about that. Sue me or something (actually don't, I don't have the money to pay you)**

 **And you guys that reviewed, favourited an/or followed it? YOU ARE AWESOME! Love every single one of you!**

 **AN: It's been a long time since the last update, and it wasn't for a lack of will. I've been working on the planing of "Forsaken Howls", which is already posted on my account. It's story is part of Down With The Fallen's plot, but I thought it deserved it's own separate space to be told in. It's not a story about Hela and Darcy, though. It's about a "non-Asgardian" you might be found of as well ;)  
**

 **AN2: "Torch" means a flashlight in British English, if you're wondering. If it's an actual "Torch" aka - medieval age/Indiana Jones -, then it's called a "Flaming Torch".**

 **AN3: Two important characters will appear for the first time in this chapter. If you saw Infinity War and know who they are, you'll probably think that they are out of character. It's not true. They are a somewhat "cute couple" and are very loving towards each other...even though the fucking movie didn't show that. But oh, well.**

 **Now, enough of my shit. I hope you guys enjoy this new chapter (and do skip the scenes if you think they are not for you. If you don't know what gore is, it is like Jigsaw stuff.).**

 **Darcy and Hela's romance is going to begin real soon, by the way.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **(and make sure to check out Forsaken Howls on my account, too. What? A woman can make her propaganda, too :P )**

* * *

 **Arch 3: Howls of Yore  
** **Chapter 3 - The Depths Of The Soul, part 2**

" _ **It's still not enough. It still won't fade away. If we had never touched, would we be smiling now?"**_

 _ **~Aimer Ref:Rain**_

The grip on her wrist was long gone and yet she refused to move. It was but a fancy wish that the presence behind her would disappear if she were to paralyse herself for a while. The ruffling of clothes that penetrated her ears was like an ice-cold bucket of water to her head.

"Exactly how long do you intend to ignore me, darling?" The woman's gentle voice was but a mockery to Darcy's ears. She spoke as an instructor would to a young child. "I mean, my patience is far bigger than you could ever cultivate your will to grow, so why don't you do us both a favour and face me for once?"

"I don't usually obey the words of someone who isn't here to begin with." She replied with venom dripping from her tone, and all the while she berated herself for falling for the woman's bait. Not that such development was any news between them, of course.

"And yet you choose to cage yourself to memories of people who had long since disappeared." Was her only reply. The brutal honesty behind such words made her stomach twirl and her chest hurt like the knife she held before had actually pierced her straight through the heart.

It was with a heavy sigh that she turned around to face the woman in the goth attire. The scene of her long legs dangling from the sink struck Darcy with the biggest deja vu she could remember back then. Even her ripped black jeans were there to complete the look.

"My face is up here" the woman demanded when her eyes refused to climb up from her legs. It was with trepidation and agony that they did so, only to find themselves fighting back tears when far too vivid memories assaulted her brain. The woman had not aged a second from their last meeting, nor had her features been tempered with in the slightest. Her white hair still flowed when there was no wind, and her emerald eyes still burned when there was no flame.

The realization of what exactly she stared at made the young girl unable to hold in her startled gasp. So many years had she ran away from the figure she stared at - from the meaning behind it's presence in her life. And now it proved to be in vain, for there they were again, analysing each other for reasons far beyond the comprehension of most.

"What do you want from me?" Even though she tried to hide it behind layers of bitter ire, her voice denounced her agony even to her own ears. Somehow, though, she couldn't really bring herself to care. The fact it was due to her breakdown interfering with her common sense was not lost to her, though. She had passed through way too many close calls involving said breakdown symptom not to get apprehensive about it. A brain's lack of health filtering was the perfect help to a suicidal's demise, after all.

"What? Not even a half-assed 'hello'?" She was unable to maintain eye contact with the white-haired female, and thus her eyes drifted back to her legs. She lost herself in the way they swung back and forth with a childish glee she was all too familiar with. "Oh, come on! Not even a cold 'n bitter 'what's up'?"

Darcy closed her eyes tight and shook her head a few times. She hoped with all her might that such actions would be able to vanish the other's presence from her life again. Suffice to say, it did not work. Her mind drifted back to days she wished not to remember, and she had to force her eyes back open.

"And what is it that you're trying to do this time, dear?" The woman's voice was burdened by the weight of a thousand buildings, but it hid behind the gentle ballad of it's childish guise.

"To make you disappear, what else?" She bit back through gritted teeth as the same time her spare hand massaged her wrist. For a fakery of her mind, the woman had a true iron grip. It was almost enough to make her reconsider the veracity of such a claim. Almost.

"I assure you that I have experienced far more unpleasant things than any ugly face you can muster, kiddo, so there is really no actual reason for you to look so...constipated, you know?" Darcy opened her mouth to give a harsh comeback, but the woman gave her a look and followed with her speech. "And besides, there is no way in jester's hell that I would ever leave you before we address such disgustingly fat elephant in the room, anyway."

The girl's eyes drifted down to the knife on the floor. It shone a little from the lamp's light, and it somehow made it's presence far more threatening than the other female's own. But it could have been a mere consequence of the course of action she had trifled with not long before.

It was a haunting irony to have the key that could release her from all her pleas but a feet away from her, and yet know that it was already broken beyond all repair. There was simply no way she'd ever be able to muster up enough courage to retry her last attempt, after all. It was a real wonder how she had even been able to go through with it a single time, but it was hardly something one could brag about. Especially not after her attempt had failed by her own mental disorder's prowess.

"Don't you dare think about it, kid" she heard the woman's words and forced herself not to break their recently established eye contact. She was not surprised to see twin orbs slowly burn to a much darker shade of green. "I would hate to break your wrists or rip out an arm or two. All for good measure, of course."

"I doubt you'd ever be able to do anything like that, though" she couldn't help but brag. Something in the back of her mind screamed that it was a mistake, but her ears were as deaf to it's pleas as her heart to it's pain. "No hallucination could ever do such a thing."

The woman blinked once, twice and almost fell from the sink in a hysterical burst of laughter. What the heck had she found so funny, anyway? Something must have been really damaged deep inside her brain for her to experience such a screwed up hallucination.

It took some time for the woman to regain her composure, and even then a few giggles managed to escape through her lips. The look on her face suddenly turned cold, though, and her eyes penetrated Darcy's with promises of unspoken horrors should she not take her seriously.

"My whole self screams at me from the insult you threw, yet my mind comprehends the paths through which your own prefers to think." The goth disappeared from the sink in a second, leaving but wonders of where to. It didn't took long for her to materialize in front of Darcy's startled face and for her nails to dug into the girl's arms and trap them besides her own chest. "Be glad that my understanding is far bigger now than it was back then, or you'd be in no condition to speak in the first place." Darcy would forever remember the way grey smoke escaped her mouth together with each syllable she spoke.

Something moved deep inside the woman's eyes, and the pain that shot up her veins dimmed down to a gentle caress. It was like a switch had been flipped somewhere inside the other's mind. Her gaze softened and the goth leaned onto her chest. She refused to let go of her arms, though, and made sure to keep her trapped in place.

"Sometimes I revert to someone I never realized to be..." Their cheeks nudged together. "And I am sorry for my behaviour. It is not my intention to harm you, little one, and I can assure you that this truth will never change." Bizarrely enough, Darcy trusted her. It was but a natural fact, though, for how could she not trust her own self? "But if it helps you to see, then I won't hesitate to interfere."

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them as they fell prey to the clutches of a heavy atmosphere. It made the hairs at the back of their neck's stand up, but neither were bothered by their ascent. A soft hum left the older woman's chest and she repositioned her arms so she could cradle the other in a gentle hug.

"We have gone through a lot together, and there will be plenty of crap ahead of us in this road..." Darcy could feel the coldness from the lips that nuzzled her neck. "You have to move on - leave your past to rot where it deserves to, and to grow into the future you'll inevitably run to."

"I-"

"Shhhhhh" a long black nail was pressed against her lips. "Don't speak. Just hear me out." When green orbs collided with hers, she gave them a hesitant nod. Thoughts ran wildly through her head, but her mind focused on the pair of eyes she feared could gaze into her soul.

"You need to stop wasting your time comparing the people you meet, or you'll end up alone and in pain exactly like you were when we first met. This is my last advice, so make sure not to forget it ever again."

"Now, though..." she continued as she step backwards and finally let go of Darcy's arms. "I believe you have people to wait for, don't you think so?" Thoughts of Hela rushed through her mind and she had to avert her gaze from the goth's burning eyes. "Do recall, though, that if you try and meet me too soon, I might as well lend you a hand."

The woman was gone before she could comprehend the weight of her words. Her legs trembled and sweat leaked from her pores, and she had to blink a few times to keep the dizziness away. These kind of things always happened at the end of their meetings, and thus she was prepared to support herself against the table when she knew her body couldn't stand with it's own strength.

She closed her eyes and hung her head to the floor. It was not the first time an hallucination had saved her life, and, as humiliated as she felt, she couldn't help but be thankful that a random doctor's wrong prescription had somehow permanently screwed with the depths of her brain.

The memory of their first meeting was still quite a vivid memory in her head, and it blatantly refused to let go of her mind. It happened just after she almost drowned herself in her mother's bathtub. The situation was a direct consequence of the completely screwed up life she had. There was just too much she could take before one of her breakdowns would take hold of her, and that was the strongest one she had ever experienced. It felt like watching herself from a computer screen with no keyboard, and being forced to observe as she tried to take her own life with an overdose of pills.

If the doctor had not written the wrong medicament in the prescription, she would had been dead. As it turned out, though, his mistake was only powerful enough to give her permanent brain damage, which found a way to materialize itself in the form of the woman she had just encountered inside Jane's kitchen. She had been an integral part of her life ever since.

When her father's attitude grew worse and the bullying she would later suffer in school walked it's baby steps, the woman was there by her side, cursing them all with her burning glare.

When her father punched her and left the house at night and her mother shut herself in her bedroom to cry, the woman glared at him with bestial rage. She never saw her parents after that. Her father was gone forever, and the woman who lived with her only worse her mother's face as disguise.

When the bullying got worse, there she was again, glaring and barking, but never far from her side. She once thought of her as a guardian dog, but felt mad that all she did was watch her suffering and never make it stop.

Then she told her just that, and she disappeared. Years passed and the bullying stopped, but she never reappeared. Her mother became the bane of her existence, and the woman did not go back. She met Jane Foster and Erik Selvig, then Thor and almost died during an invasion by what they told her to be elves, and she did not dropped by.

It confirmed her worries that the woman - the Gothic hallucination that plagued her mind - could only be triggered by the suicidal thoughts in her mind. She had spoken about her to a psychiatrist, and they told her so...but to experience it first hand was by far more believable than to be spoken to.

When her eyes slid open and travelled down to stare at the twin holes in her sleeves, though, she was not sure what to believe in anymore...

##

They spotted the warehouse from afar. The mercenary had a picture of it stored inside one of his many pockets, and it made their search far easier than it might have been otherwise. Truth be said, the place wasn't discrete at all. It's structure was ruined not only by time but by it's owners mistreatment, too. It was indeed hidden between buildings of similar structure, yet they failed to compare to it's state of decay.

"You'd think these assholes would be smart enough to hide their 'base' or something..." He mumbled from his position at her right side. They were both facing the building with equal levels of disdain, though hers was fuelled by a hunger he'd never comprehend. "I say we go inside and blast them all to oblivion quickly, then we're free to go away to never come back."

"What?" He questioned her when she offered no answer but a tilt of her eyebrow. "You think it's not blasting enough for you? 'cause we could definitely use my grenades...even though I have for of them...or we could just blow them all up with their own guns?" She said nothing. "Okay, party screwer, what's your plan?"

"We find another way in." Her answer was simple enough for him to urge her to reveal some more. "We hide inside. Take take from their backs. We don't sweat - they don't live anymore."

He stared at her for long seconds, until he shook his head and enlightened her of his innermost thoughts. "And how do you suppose we do that, Batman? D'you have anything on your utility belt that can save us time if we use it NOW instead of later on, when shit hits the fan for real?"

"I take it you have a better idea?"

"I already told you my better idea. We burst the doors and kill them all. Simple. Easy. Neat. I didn't take you for a stealthy character - that's for sure."

"It's because I am not." He looked at her dumbly and she forced herself not to berate the stupid out of his brain. Had he seriously forgotten the damage she had recently received? She wasn't about to face it anytime soon if she could help it. The results of doing so could prove themselves to be disastrous towards her own health. "Look, mercenary..." He tilted his head. "I am not sure if I can take any more damage without serious repercussions, and be sure they wouldn't be my problems to solve alone. So I would much more prefer if we sneak out the back or whatever other place we can fit through to get inside, and then kill them all when they aren't expecting us."

"Well..." He shrugged and took an extended look around. "While I DO understand where you are coming from, I still can't think of a reason why I can't simply enter there front the front door while you do your sneaky thing at the same time. I literally can take all they throw at me. Believe me - I know."

"I need you to trust me in this matter, Midgardian, for your scent might not be alluring right now, but if I don't go in there, feel the thrill of battle and get all of this over with as soon as possible, then it won't be as bad forever, and I assure you your regenerative prowess would only make it worse for you." She could hear him gulp, even though she was sure he had not understood much of what she had just said. "Do we have a deal?"

"Alright, fine" he whined. "I'll do it as you ask, 'ma'am', but if shit hits the fan, I'm grabbing my grenades and blowing this shithole to dust."

"I wouldn't ask you for anything more." She smiled and started to walk towards the building when he grabbed her by the shoulder and halted her steps. "What is it now?"

"You can't just go in there like this after all you just said!" He seemed indignant, but she could not understand why. Her eyes must have betrayed her thoughts, for he continued with his tirade. "Cameras, dude!" He shook his head when she did not answer to that. "If there are cameras around, then they will spot us way before you even enter that crap."

"Do you see any of these 'cameras' around?" She was familiar with devices that could detect one's presence, of course. But she had seen too many different civilizations to know their security systems could vary in the most unusual of ways.

"Well...no" She resume her walk. "But that's not enough to know if there are any around" He hissed, yet kept walking by her side.

"Tell me, then, mercenary" She stopped to look him in the eye...or where his mask told her it was, anyway. "What source of power fuel these devices?"

"Electricity?" He sounded unsure of his answer, but it might had been a trick of her ears.

"And do they harness it through black cables attached to structures you call 'lampposts'?"

"...yeah?" She pointed at the cut cables on the ground inches from their feet. "Oh!" He gave her an awkward laugh. "Looks like they hadn't thought about paying their bills, after all!"

She shook her head and left the man behind to his silly daydreams. She needed to feed, and she could feel her clock ticking faster by the second. There wasn't much she would be able to do to stop herself if they didn't get to the criminals fast.

##

 **[TW: Graphical Violence/ Mentions of Sexual Assault]**

It was only after they broke in through the backdoor upstairs that she realized things wouldn't be as uncomplicated as she had originally thought. There weren't many tugs inside, but the realization of what hey smelled like and what she was about to do to them was enough to give her pause. She wasn't worried about the mercenary's reaction to her diet - she was worried that she would come to regret it afterwards. What if those guys weren't really the criminals they were said to be? What if they weren't really rapist, but only a bunch of thieves? What if she was been played? The only things she was still sure about were the fact that she needed proof, and that she needed it fast.

They disguised themselves in the shadows and used the many wooden boxes in the deposit as cover. Three men walked about on the platform they had entered through, but only one of them seemed to have a torch to illuminate his path. They all carried a weapon similar to the one the mercenary had strapped to his belt. The thought made her gaze at the man, who seemed overly too excited to partake in the bloodbath that was to come, but she couldn't really blame him when her own insides longed for her to devour the life out of every hostile being inside the warehouse.

"I need a weapon" She whispered to him. "I can't take chances with my own disintegrating before they hit one of them." He nodded and prepared to hand her one of his guns. "I'd much more prefer a melee one." He nodded again and handed her a knife. She tested it's sharpness against her fingers and wasn't disappointed by it. The weapon wasn't perfect, of course, but it would be more than enough for her to take their enemies down for good.

Before she put her plan into motion, though, she leaned over the catwalk to get a better view downstairs, and made sure not to be seen by the ones upstairs. The warehouse was open and had absolute no light source but the ones from the men's torches. It cast the whole building into darkness, but it proved to be for the best, for it made it all easier for her to spot the four men that gathered around one of the tables below. Their torches laid on top of it's surface and provided the best illumination she could ask for.

"I'll take care of the ones downstairs." She waited for him to nod at her before she threw herself from the catwalk. Relief flooded through her veins when landed on the ground and not onto any of the wooden crates around. All their stealth would have been for naught if she denounced their arrival through any unplanned noises.

She was close enough to the crates to recognize their silhouettes in the dark, and thus had no major problems with sneaking around them to get a better view of the place. She made sure to look out for any other threats she might encounter, and didn't knew if to be relieved or disappointed that there weren't any she needed to worry about. The most dangerous hostiles for her were the ones at the table, it would seem.

Her hand gripped the knife's handle as she hid behind the closest crate to their position she could find in the shadows. She could hear their conversations clearly from the spot, and it gave her a good idea of what to do in case none of them would be so kind as to leave the others behind.

She gazed up at the catwalks and searched for the mercenary, but found nothing of interest. There was a torch rolling around on the floor, though, and it wasn't hard for her to understand exactly what had happened to it's original holder. She only wished he knew what he was doing. Otherwise their entire plan could be compromised, and she wasn't about to test her regenerative powers so soon after her 'almost death' experience.

Her eyes zeroed on the crowbar that laid upon the crate to her right, and took advantage of the men's laughter to grab it without being heard. She was about to throw it into a dark corner nearby when she heard a strange buzzing noise coming from their general direction. She sneaked them a glance, only to find one of them holding a small device to his ear.

"Yes, boss" She heard him say and saw him hang the thing on his belt. Was that the so called 'utility belt' the mercenary had mentioned before? "Boss is calling me."He shook his head and started to move towards a door she had not noticed there before. It would seem her eyes were finally adjusting to the darkness. "Don't you dare drink all my beer!" He shouted back to the ones at the table as he disappeared through the doorway.

She did not waste time and threw the crowbar to the corner she had eyed before. The tool hit a wall and it's metallic noise echoed through the warehouse. She heard the laughter die down at the table and saw the men glance at the general direction she threw it at.

"Damn rats, making noises again" Said one of the men as he grabbed a torch from the table and pointed to the fat one that prepared himself to sit down on a chair. "Don't even think about it, fat ass. You're coming with me."

"I ain't going anywhere" He sat down and grabbed back a beer from the tabletop. "Take Billy with you. He never does anything, anyway."

"The boss will be hearing about this, you useless fucktard" He shoved a torch onto at who she believed to be Billy, and all he took it with a sneer. She thought he would voice his protests some more, but the other man just twirled him around by the shoulders and started walking to where they heard the noises. "I'm SO going to kill those bastards when I find them..."

She waited for them to disappear behind some crates for her to sneak behind the fat guy's seat. She used the knife to slit his throat and her hand to block any sounds from leaving his mouth. He didn't put much of a fight - no doubt thinking it all funny due to his level of intoxication -, but almost fell down the chair on one of his twists. She was far stronger than any Midgardian, though, and thus it wasn't hard for her to drag the man back into the shadows and leave him to rot behind a couple of boxes.

Her nostrils flared with her every breath, and once more she had to force herself not to moan out loud. The scent of beer tainted the man's own, but her starving mind was not about to protest. She bit her own hand for her not to eat the man right there. He was already prepared for her to take, but she still had no proof of their deeds, and there were more men walking around the warehouse. She couldn't risk making sounds and being spotted in the middle of her...feeding.

She ignored the shivers that crawled up her spine at the thought and followed the path the two men had taken before. For a brief moment she considered going after the one who had been called by 'the boss', but she wasn't about to let herself be encircled by a bunch thugs.

"Come on, ratty, ratty, ratty!" She heard one of them call out to the shadows. Did he think them as dogs? If the circumstances were different, she had no doubt that she'd take great pleasure in throwing his stupidity back at his own face. Even more so when, after all the time she had wasted killing their fat friend, they still had not noticed the crowbar. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

Her stealth skills were not the best, she knew, but it seemed more than enough for her to hide from their torch's light and take cover behind a box inches away from their position. She associated her success to their inebriated state, though, for not even those idiots could be so stupid as not to notice her there.

"Bah!" Billy shook his head and halted the other man's steps. "Let's just go back in there before that fat asshole gulps down all of our beer."

"Yeah" She heard the man sigh. She could see his perfect silhouette from where she hid, and was sure she could almost touch him if she wanted to. Another certain thing was that if he were to aim his torch to his right, he wouldn't be able to miss her there. "Let's just go b-"

It was with that thought in mind that she used all the strength on her legs to jump over the box and kick him underneath the jaw. She heard a loud crack - who knew Midgardians could be so fragile? - and his friend gasp, but was far more interested in regaining the proper control of her body. There was something wrong with the way she moved, and everything seemed just too out of synch for her own good. Thankfully, though, the battle wasn't a hard one for her to fight.

She corrected her stance and pierced the mercenary's knife deep inside Billy's mouth. Whatever her was about to scream died with him as he fell backwards to the ground. She had no time to take the weapon off his corpse, though, for the first thug was already on his feet.

He shook his head from side to side, but seemed way too disoriented to shout out. His dizziness and pain were perfect for her unarmed situation, though, and she wasted no time to punch him in the guts and knee him in the face. She felt the thrill of battle as she straddled him and forced his mouth shut with a hand and pressed down on his windpipe with another. It didn't take long for it to crack and his eyes to close. By the delicious way he smelled, she knew that he was dead.

It was surprisingly easier for her to control her urges to feed, and she'd later admit exactly how thankful she was for that. She didn't bother to drag their bodies around, and simply grabbed the knife back from Billy's mouth. He wouldn't be needing that anymore. She made sure to turn off their torches, and felt it could be useful to take one of them with her. Her eyes could only see so much in the darkness, after all.

She walked back to the table they were gathered around, and kept a sharp eye to the one their 'boss' had called before. When she found no one, she let her eyes gaze down at the tabletop. She spotted a varying range of papers and a few bottles of beer, but what really caught her attention was the big pile of images centralized on it.

"Yohoooo!" She heard the mercenary's voice and couldn't help but to look up at it's source. He had an arm snaked around a thug's waist and held him as if he was his dance partner of sorts. The bleeding wound in his forehead told her he was dead, though. To complete his weirdness, he grabbed the corpse's hand and forced it to give her a wave. The man had quite the unique sense of humour, it would seem.

Suddenly, he let go of the body and grabbed a weapon from his belt. "Duck!" He aimed it at her and she only had the time to do as he told her to before it's loud noise banged around inside her head. She looked back to see what he had hit, and was slightly surprised to notice he had shot the remaining thug right in the head. He had just alerted their presence to the whole building, but her gratitude outweighed her annoyance, and she gave him a respectful nod.

It didn't take long for the man to join her at the table and gaze at it's contents. They waited for a while to see if anyone would check the noise, and, when no one did so, they zeroed their attention on the images.

"What are these?" She asked him and pointed at the image of a young brunette. She was completely naked and there was a big hole in her throat.

"Bastards photographed their victims" She gave him a look. "Oh? Forgot you came from the Devil's Anus" That was an actual place...or so Odin had told her. "People like to use cameras to take photos of things and register them onto something else than their memories. You wouldn't believe how fragile our heads really are."

She went through all the photos and her eyes narrowed at the last one. It was of a girl far younger than Darcy. If she had to guess, she'd say she was a child. Suddenly, the photo was ripped from her hands and she saw the mercenary's whole body tremble.

"This girl can't be older than fifteen." He slammed the photograph back on the table and pulled of the swords from his back. "Whoever's behind this will pay for it greatly."

"Wait" She held his shoulders and was taken aback when he stopped to listen to whatever she had to say. "I think I know where the boss is, and I have something truly special in mind..."

##

 **[TW: Gore]**

 **[Warning: This is a mature scene and may be seen as disturbing for many readers. Feel free to skip it if you are one of them]**

The boss' "office" was as ruined as she thought it would be. It was nothing but a couple of iron boxes put together with a range of different supports into what the old man probably believed to be a "appealing" way, yet was everything but. The only thing that seemed to blend with the room was the sole device on top of a table made of crates. Darcy had told her the device was called a "computer" back when they visited the stores. Didn't they need electricity to function, though?

She was robbed off her thoughts by the aforementioned man's giggles. He sat on a chair in front of the computer's screen and bated in whatever it was that it showed him. In all honestly, she didn't needed to see it to know exactly what it showed, and the thought made her narrow her eyes. That pig had ruined the lives of so many young women, and hat the temerity to sit there giggling at the thought of ruining even more. He was by far the most disgusting living being nearby, and it made of him the perfect prey for her to feed off.

Her eyes moved away from the man to stare at the mercenary who stood by her side. They nodded at each other, and he sneaked quickly into the shadows. He already had a sword held firmly in one of his hands, yet seemed agreeable with following her plan. His willingness to cooperate was a major relief for her, for she didn't knew what would happen if he were to strip her from her prey. It wouldn't end well for any of them, that's for sure.

"You seem to be having the time of your life." She told the 'boss' as she purposely stomped on a pile of broken glass on the floor. Delight took hold of her whole self as she saw him jump away from the chair and tumble down to the ground while cursing someone he couldn't even see. Her delight was fuel for her hunger, and pleased her so much that it sent shivers up her spine. It was almost enough to make her purr - and she hadn't even smelled him yet!

"What is it?" She mocked as she walked closer to the computer's light. Little by little his eyes widened and she knew it was due to her face. She felt an ever growing tingle in her eyes that she couldn't not comprehend, yet wasn't opposed to somehow. Movement caught her attention to the floor, and she saw a reflection of her own face in a small puddle of water. She couldn't help but be fascinated by the black and white glow that took hold of both her eyes. Suddenly, she felt teeth far sharper than she was used to poking around inside her mouth, and couldn't resist the tempting thought of staring the man in his eyes and splitting her face with a predator smile. "See something you fear?"

"Get the fuck away from me, you mutant scum!" His angry shouts were rendered hilarious by the way he tried to crawl backwards from her. He grabbed a gun from his waistline and aimed it at her head as soon as his back touched the nearby wall. It seemed that those 'utility belts' weren't all that popular - or needed -, after all. "I don't know how you got through all my men." It was delicious to watch him crawl back to his feet while failing miserably to keep a straight face. "But this rib-tickler ends right here..." She saw him unlock the weapon's safety lock - Skurge had taught her about it during one of his endless tirades - and prepare to fire. "Right n-" Only for him to scream bloody murder and drop down to his knees while clutching what was left of his right wrist.

"Did he seriously just said 'rib-tickler?'" She heard the mercenary say and looked up from the boss' detached hand to see him try and clean his sword on one of the crates, utterly callous to the man's cries of pain. He noticed her gaze, offered her a shrug and stomped hard on the fallen man's back. "I gave up on my true family to get rid of fuckers like you." She saw him put more weight on his foot. "The least you can do is to clean your own mess." For a brief second there she believed him to be talking to her, but, when he crouched down to clean the blood off his sword on the boss' clothes, she knew that he was not.

Suddenly, the scent of blood invaded her nostrils and she almost had to brace herself against an iron box. She savoured the way it crawled into her lungs and made sure to fill them to their maximum capabilities. The scent was so luring and strong her vision blurred for a little while, and she wondered if someone could have orgasms out of the scent of food.

She heard her "partner" hum a strange tune and saw him sit down in front of the computer out of the corner of her eyes, but couldn't force herself to pay attention to what he said next. Everything seemed so distant from her that it was hard to distinguish what was real and what was not. It all seemed like nothing but a deliciously constructed dream.

She was only able to bring her focus back to life when she saw the thug's remaining hand reach for his gun. Her eyes narrowed and she made quick work of approaching him and crushing his hand against the ground with one of her boots. "Midgardians..." She mocked as she twirled her feet around for a while. "They brake up so fast." A loud crack echoed through the room together with the man's violent scream, and all it did was to make her crave for more. She felt like a true huntress at heart.

"Whoa!" She heard the mercenary say but didn't glanced back at him. She leaned down and grabbed the man by his throat. "These guys are way sicker than I thought!"

"Oh?" She voiced as she lifted the man off the ground and revelled in the way his legs started to kick.

"He has a shit-ton of Facebook accounts opened in this shit, and all of them are of young women who live in New York, Burnmount, Blosa or Dela'er, which are the closest cities around." She glanced at the mercenary, who already stared at her. "This sick maniac and his little gang of pricks have been searching for women online, and then choosing 'the best pics'. And I swear I can't see anyone older than twenty in here." She lifted an eyebrow. "What? I'm not dumb! I'm just a bit screwed up in the head - it's all!."

She offered him no reply and simply let the old man fall down from her grasp. He seemed confused between regaining his breathing and making the pain go away. In different circumstances she might think of her actions as overly sadists, but all she could think about them was the promise of a full stomach and the end of her own torment. She was way past the point of no return.

Her eyes drifted up for a second and she spotted a long chain hanging down from the ceiling. It was obviously used as support for the heavier boxes, yet remained empty enough to giver her a wicked idea. She halted her movements when she remembered the other presence in the room, though.

"I have kept an important information from you in this...partnership" she told him as she tugged on the chain to make sure it was strong enough to fit her needs, and waited for him to make an interested sound for her to continue. "Some things happened to me recently, and they made me crave for a different kind of meal." She picked the boss up by the head and approached it to the hook at the end of the chain, and lifted him high enough to attach his back to the hook. She gave the chain a powerful tug and marvelled at he way it hung him off the ground. Her hands twirled the man around and she hugged him from behind as if they were lovers looking out to the sea.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

She approached her head to the the man's neck and took a deep breath against it. Her whole focus zeroed on the delicious scent for a tense moment, and she felt her control starting to slip away. She glanced at the mercenary from her spot, and offered him the answer he needed. "I'm burdened by a hunger for everything that makes the living whole." Her mouth salivated as she prepared to take her first bite, yet she used all her restraints to glance back at him with an offer. "You can watch it if you want to." And her self control left her at once.

Her teeth cut through the man's flesh and almost reached his bone. Blood spluttered from the wound and filled her mouth the the most appetizing taste she had ever felt. She could feel him try and squirm away from her grasp, and held him tighter to her front. His ribs cracked against her arms and his deafening screams enough throughout the room, yet all she knew was the bliss of satiating her thirst for the first time.

She bit down harder and pulled her mouth away from him. A mini fountain of blood leashed out of his neck as she cut out a piece out of it. The flesh, the skin, the muscles and blood in her mouth were a perfect mix to her taste buds. She swallowed them all with gusto, and rejoiced at the way they felt sliding down her throat. Why had she fought it for so long? Why did she thought of it as wrong? Something so delicious couldn't possibly be wrong.

He screamed out louder as she went back to devouring him alive. It was music to her ears, and the realization almost made her actions halt. She wasn't a monster, nor a sadist. No. HE was the monster. HE was the sadist! Her prey!

The warehouse was cast into a deep silence. It stretched through it's walls and took hold of it's every habitants with an iron grip, but was affronted by her moans of pleasure. The man's taste filled her mouth again and again as her teeth made quick work of his body. It was a delirious experience that almost made her knees go weak once or twice, yet she valiantly fought her own weakness for the pure joy of feeding herself even more.

The screams faded out for a long while, but she didn't realized it at all. His neck was just not enough to satisfy her hunger anymore, and thus her attentions drifted from it to his shoulders, and from his shoulders to his arms and from his arms to his upper back. Her tongue twirled fragments of him inside her mouth as she gave her best to differentiate each one's taste. The fabrics of his clothes were a tasteless bunch of fern, but were far from enough to deter her from eating some more. His muscles, though underdeveloped, proved to be quite the appetizers, his blood an exotic sauce and his flesh like raw lightning bolts of ecstasy! It was almost too much!

Her hungry tongue penetrated the depths of his being and was blocked by a shield of bones. It was hard, firm and rigid, and it called out for her on the most primitive of ways. She had to have it - she had to taste it whole!

It gave in with a loud crack as she ripped it's pieces out with her bare teeth. They felt foreign in her mouth, yet their tiniest fragments held enough flavour to refuel her thirst anew. Her mind was getting crazy by the second, and she loved every second of it!

Suddenly, her orbs flashed back to their favourite shade of green and she stepped back in haste. Blood dripped from her mouth and darkness clouded her eyes as she shook her head and waged war to control her own self. It was a war she had no intentions of forfeiting, though, for she had fought too many battles the past couple of days to be so easily claimed by her own desires.

Her vision began to clear itself at a slug's speed, and, as her world faded back into it's rightful place, the realization of what she had done nailed itself in the depths of her heart. An explosion of disturbing feelings crawled all over her core, crumbling her psyche like it was garbage in the wind.

A fresh breath filled her lungs, and she knew that she was not the bad person in that particular story. No. Death had told her before: that people often associated darkness to everything wrong there was to discover and comprehend - that they pointed their fingers at the unknown as if it was a plague, and were rarely right about their presumptions. No, she was not the "bad doer". She was a punisher, not a monster.

She took a few steps back and braced herself against the cold surface of the table. It cracked out loud and she quickly let go of it. Her eyes risked a glance at it, and widened at the crumbled imprints of both her hands. If she had waited a second too long, the crates would had been crushed!

It was only then that it hit her like a ton of steel: she felt better than ever! She could finally breathe without worrying about losing control! The scents of people weren't unbearable anymore! She could finally rest! She could finally be herself again!

...Except she couldn't. The wheels of time still rode through their path, and they would never revert back. Yes, she had heard of artefacts that could turn back time...but at what cost? What had she lost after the destruction of Asgard, anyway? Her "family" never wanted her in the first place - maybe Frigga, but not long, either. Not that she could blame her brothers, of course. Loki had tried to negotiate, at least. She was tempted to accept it, even...but then she remember what Odin had done to her and the admiration in the eyes of Thor was the perfect fuel to her ire.

She had asked herself about who she really was far too many times to count, but still couldn't find a suitable answer. Everything she was ever called was a title, even her name sounded like one. Something was very wrong with her soul - Death had told her so, even -, but she couldn't understand what it was.

As her eyes asserted the damage she had done to the old boss' body, though, she knew exactly what it was. She had admitted to it before, but had forgot it's true meanings amidst her struggles. The only way for her to heal, was for her to rectify her own mistakes - to stop breathing a lie.

She focused her gaze on the small needle that sat on the tabletop. It reminded her of somewhere she once longed to call a home...and it was perfect for the message she was willing to deliver.

"You always told me I was not good enough to sew." She spoke out loud, as if they could hear her from wherever they souls were dragged to. "That the only thing I would ever be good at was to destroy what others told me to." Her hands engulfed the sewing needle as she eyed the office's door. "This shall mark my own reborn, and this time it will be at my true image."

##

They left the warehouse through the same backdoor they entered it through. Their clothes portrayed a varying range of blood, but it was Hela's the one that would be perpetually ruined by it. The rain and the guts weren't aiming to help her case at all, too. She was never one to be overly caring as to the state of the garments she wore, but they had only being in such extreme damage three or four times through the whole of her life.

"That weird shit you did there..." Deadpool began as they entered the alleyways nearby. "The whole ghoul thing? It was just..." He shook his head with uncertainty in his voice. "Awesome!" She looked at him as if he had sprouted an extra head. She shivered to think it could actually happen somehow. "I mean, you were all so 'growl' and then 'snap' and then 'must eat'!" Maybe he was born with two heads, but lost one. That would explain why his brain was damaged like that. "Seriously, that was like watching an horror movie - only it was actually good!"

"Then why didn't you stay to watch it whole?" She raised an eyebrow at him. The man was not dumb, she knew, but she felt his craziness a little too irritating for his own sake. Worst part he didn't even did it on purpose - it was all natural. The way he sent mixed signals about his true feelings all the time was what irritated her the most, though.

"Hello?" He whined like a children in the middle of a tantrum. "What part of 'weird shit' you didn't hear?" Her eyebrow rose higher. "It was bloody awesome - quite literally -, I'll give you that, but it was also not something for little young me to poke my head in. One does not simply walk into Mordor, after all."

She accepted his answer with a shake of her head and an urge not to smile. He was annoying and irritating like no one else, yet he had a knack of saying the right thing, somehow. Sure she didn't knew what a "Mordor" was supposed to be, but the meaning of his whole quote wasn't lost to her: an animal is most dangerous to meddle with while it feeds.

The thought left a strange taste in her mouth. It was enough for her to wince and let out a small cough. She had not really considered herself a hungry animal before, but the comparison was just too fitting for her to ignore. She was far more rational than a simple animal, of course, but she could not deny how exhilarating it felt for her to devour one's whole self. It wasn't only the taste she fed upon or the power she gained from it that made the experience so thrilling. No. It was the way she felt truly at peace with herself - with her true nature - for the first time in far too long a while.

They marched behind the veil of shadows, uncaring if someone happened upon them. Deadpool was not about to sew his mouth shut, and was not ashamed to game up his banter, too. Between the cold, the rain, the wind and the grim realization of what she had just done to all these men, though, she herself was not ashamed of perking up with every stupid thing he said. They were perfect distractions for her dooming worries, after all.

"...and that is why Adam Sandler should quit acting movies. Period." She heard the end of his newest topic of choice, and prepared herself to intervene for the first time after the warehouse incident.

"I believe you have yet to tell me your name, mercenary." She told him as soon as he looked her way. As much as his banter held no importance at all but to distract her from her thoughts, she was educated enough to know not to interrupt one's speech when there was no pressing need to do so.

"Oh" he seemed surprised. "People - including myself - have been calling me 'Deadpool' ever since I got this baby here." He gestured to his suit.

"But?" The way he had phrased his words was enough for her to question them. He didn't seemed too kin of what he had just said. For her it seemed like the name wasn't one of his choice, or had simply lost all it's meaning to him.

"It's just that I've been Deadpool for too long, now, and sometimes I feel like I'll cease to be Wade Wilson if I continue with the charade, you know?" She nodded her head. That was something she could honestly understand. It wasn't far from her current dilemma, even. "Sometimes I catch myself wishing I had not signed those papers and become this."

"So you regret it?"

"No." He denied at once. There wasn't an ounce of doubt in his voice, and that she could respect. The mercenary - Wade - was the biggest, most irritating blabbermouth she had ever met, but he also had plenty to spare in places many seemed to lack. "I made many things that I couldn't ever had made without this." Both of them knew he wasn't talking about his suit anymore. "Not all of them were good, I admit, but I feel like the few ones that actually were are worthy enough for me, you know?" She nodded. "Plus, I'd be dead by now if it wasn't for this, so, yeah." Her head shook slowly from side to side - she should had known that it was something like that. There was simply no strength left inside her to fight the small smile off her face, though.

"What about you, though?" He questioned just as her eyes took in the glowing lights ahead. They denounced the alleyway's ending and the starting point of the city streets. Ever since they left the warehouse she had not experienced the painful hunger from before, and the thought of being out in the open made her stomach curl and a knock to form in her throat. The outside was open by itself, it was true, but the streets were the ones that held the stronger scents. It wasn't hard to do the maths.

"Huh?" She dumbly answered. Too many thoughts and anticipations at once for her to concentrate on something else.

"What's your name?"

"Oh" She coughed a little to clean her throat. "I'm Hela." No need adding the whole 'Goddess of Death' thing right then. Wade already held too many informations about her, and, as much as he was quite a good mean to her ends, she did not trusted him at all. Least of all close to Darcy.

"Just Hela? No surname?"

"Hela is the only name I care about." It was true. 'Goddess of Death' was a title, not a name. The fact it proved to be far more important than her name was a detail he didn't needed to know, though.

Wade was about to ask her something else, but stopped when they exited the alley. There were cars driving by on the streets but no pedestrian had felt it safe enough to walk out on the downpour. Maybe that's why her nostrils did not pick up as much delicious scents as before, or maybe it was the fact she had just fed. Regardless, she hoped it would last.

She saw him start moving to the right on the sidewalk, but decided not to follow. It was time for goodbyes, it would seem. Wade realized it, too, and turned back to face her. It was quite amusing to watch the way he seemed not keen on leaving her behind. Maybe she wasn't the only one that needed a good distraction.

"I think it's goodbye, then" He said awkwardly and looked at the line of taxis parked behind him. There was a moment in which she thought he'd pet his own neck, even.

"Indeed" She made sure to keep the amusement out of her voice.

He nodded his head, and left to the taxi line. He halted halfway there and looked back again. "Do you-" he coughed. "Do you have money for a taxi?" She shook her head. "We can split one..." he gave an awkward pause. "If you want?"

"I think I'll just walk" She offered him together with a respectful nod he was all too happy to return. "It was good meeting you in more...friendly terms, Wade."

She walked away before anything else could be said. There was too much she needed to think about on the way back to Darcy's, and there was just no way she would've had guided the mercenary directly to her home - even more so after he had proved his skills back in the warehouse. She owed her as much.

"Add me on Twitter!" She heard him scream but did not look back. She raised her left arm to show him she had understood, even though she had no idea what a 'Twitter' was. Maybe it had something to do with that 'Mordor' he spoke of before. "I follow Hello Kitty!"

##

Her feet howled as she walked down the empty streets. The rain washed away most of the blood from her clothes, but there was no salvaging them, after all. The fact gave her a weird feeling of guilt. It spread through her core as if it was a twin of the hunger she was yet to feel again. Darcy had gone out of her way to buy her the garments, and the first thing she did was to run off in the middle of the night and ruin them as a whole.

Was the distance even that long when she departed from the house, anyway? It felt like kilometres the first time, yes, but they were slowly progressing to miles as she walked back. Maybe it was a trickery of her own mind, or maybe she was doing it deliberately for a range of reasons she couldn't fight off her mind, but it didn't really mattered, did it? However long it might take her, she was going back to the woman's house, and would have to face the consequences of her actions.

Her mentality had been morphing to something else entirely ever since she fed herself to her heart's contempt. It didn't took any weird turns, fortunately, but it did give her the final push she needed to put a stop to their game of pretences. It wasn't healthy for both of them, and, if it meant she would have to find another place to live, then she would gladly do so. It would probably be for the best, too. She had no idea if Wade was going to track her down in the future for any other "partner job", and that would end up guiding him straight to Darcy. The thought made her shiver.

She looked up to the skies with her eyes closed and bated in the falling rain. It seemed like a constant reminder of who she really was and who she had slowly started to become - a recorder of all her memories that had no shame of replaying them all over and over again. Sometimes she thought the water had a conscience of itself, and that she was the amusement of it's boring existence.

A few minutes flew by and she had yet to open her eyes. She felt like her legs had memorized the path back to the woman's house, even though she had taken a different one the first time around. Her memory was not perfect, of course, and it was hard to distinguish her "travel memories" from the world of anguish and pain she was forced to live through.

The realization made her eyes open to gaze back at the streets. She could see a few random buildings here and there, but her whole attention zeroed on the single house that revealed itself a little further ahead. It was the one she had exited hours before, there was no doubt, but it still felt much too bizarre to look at it's white walls and it's rusty metal gate. Was there even a gate there before? If so, was she the one who opened it, or was it someone else's fault? Was Darcy still in there? If so, what if her scent made her think of her as food? Regardless, would she even be welcomed back? Would she be forced right back into the rain? What if Darcy's friend was already back and not pleased by her presence? What if Darcy wasn't there? What if she went out to look of her and got herself in trouble? Had she even noticed her absence in the first place? Did any of it matter at all?

The door knob already rested firmly in her hands when she freed herself from the daydreams. It was something she should work on, she knew, but it was a part of her psyche ever sine her early years in Asgard, and therefore too late for her to correct, anyway. It seemed it was already too late for her to back off from her predicament, too, for her hands turned the knob out of their own volition and the door quickly gave in to their advances.

It was time for her to make things right for a change.

##

His head felt like Ogdru Hem's insides after Hellboy fed it his entire grenade belt in the first movie...only it didn't had the privilege of imploding, of course. He wasn't sure if it was a good thing, though, for as much as it meant he was not about to die, it also meant there would be no salvation for him from it's consequential world of pain. If he didn't find any relief soon, then he could begin to regret his decision to go along with the whole Weapon X thing, and that wasn't a topic he needed to worry about right then.

He was so dizzy and out of his mind that his memories started to fail him. He had no recollection of when exactly he had burst through the hotel room's door, nor did he knew whose taxi he had taken from their blasted yellow line. But, then again, the real surprise would be if he were to remember those things. His head was more screwed than the X-men timeline, after all, and that was saying something.

"Wade..." Yes. Of course. That was exactly what he needed: a fucking voice screamed in his head. Didn't mental diseases have a school of good mannerisms or something? It really seemed like they didn't. "Rem-" The pain in his head intensified with each syllable, and he had to brace himself against the nearby wall. The voice kept talking and talking and talking and talking, and every sound felt worse than the scratching of iron nails on a blackboard. He didn't understood a single word it said, and the fact was but fuel to his pain.

"Remember me!" The words were screamed so loud and clear he thought a banshee had penetrated his ears. Before he could comprehend whatever the hell was happening, though, his world grew black and he fell face first to the floor. The last thing he heard was a woman's sigh of relief. It would seem he would finally have his 'slowly blacking out' scene, after all...

##

Her hollow eyes gazed out at the universe outside. Stars and planets alike moved slowly from side to side, as if to greet them and tell them goodbye. A few days before she would had thought of their actions as welcoming, but, as her mind repeated the prince's words, she was not so sure anymore.

"We don't have the Tesseract" He had said through his bloody mouth, and she was sure that he was lying. "It was destroyed on Asgard!" He had continued, and she wanted to murder him. There was no way the Asgardians would ever destroy such an artefact - the king himself would never allow it after how much he struggled to keep it within his grasp.

When Loki, their brother from once upon a time, made a gesture with his hands as if to project it in his palm, she was overcome with pride in her own self. Except it never did - the god himself seemed surprised by it and tried again and again. It was soon evident that he did not possess it anymore.

Things went into a downward spiral from there, and, her father went madder than she had ever seen him before. He fought their enemies without the help of his gauntlet and laid them all to waste. The god of mischief himself went down by his hand. He had spared the life of his brother Thor, though, for reasons she just could not comprehend. She called it mercy at the time, but that was also something she wasn't so sure about anymore.

But it wasn't their frustrating retreat back to their mother ship or the subsequent explosion of the Asgardian's own that ignited the candle of doubt in her heart. No. What ignited it was the Asgardian's message she had accidentally heard through a device her husband gave her as a gift. She didn't knew what prompted her to make the decision to leave her hand-picked source of entertainment for the unknown of nearby frequencies, but she did so, and the results were far from the ones she hoped for.

"Engines are dead. Life support failing. Requesting aid from any vessel within range..." The moment she heard it, she knew what it was, and felt amused by the way the male's voice sounded. "Our crew is made up of Asgardian families, we have very few soldiers here." Her eyes narrowed. She had noticed plenty of civilians, but her father had assured his children that their deaths would contribute to the balance of the universe. She had believed him then, and she still believed him...or at least tried to. "This is not a warcraft. I repeat, this is NOT a warcraft."

Ever since Thanos arrived at her birth planed and choose her as his own, she had been trained and polished into the best warrior she could ever hope to be. Her reflexes were sharper than her blades and her movements deadlier than her spear, and, even though her father didn't had high requirements of her intellectual prowess, she was far way from lacking in it's department.

Thus she had never doubted her father's words - not even once. He had never lied to her. He had never manipulated her. He had always showered her with love and care. He had blessed her union with her husband Corvus - another one of his children -, even. He was harsh and rigid, yes, but she knew it was all for her own good. It was all so she would be come the woman she was...

But things had changed, and she knew there was absolutely no way they could ever go back to what they once were, and, even if they could, she wasn't sure if she wanted them to. She wasn't stupid, though. She knew what Thanos had done to her planet and what he did to Corvus and many others. She knew of what he longed for and how he planned to reach it no matter what. But she also loved him as a father and told herself every second that he also loved her as his own. He had never given her reasons to doubt him before...

They were told the Asgardians' deaths would contribute to the rebalance of the universe, yet were kept from the essential knowledge of Asgard's recent destruction. She only learned of it through the same device, soon after she heard the distress message. They had called for help, and Thanos had answered. They didn't needed to be killed - there was no balance to be obtained out of their deaths, only foul, hollow nothingness.

What else had the titan kept from his children? What else had he kept from her? Were the deaths of other's she had killed as meaningless as the Asgardian's? Had he lied about his love for her? Did he even held love for anyone but his precious Gamora? Did she even want him to love her, after what he had done?

It was not to say she was a saint, of course. She was thrilled by battle and loved the feeling of stabbing her enemies to death - of looking into the depths of their eyes as she reaped them from their lives. Yes, she had killed people in the name of Thanos when no balance would be retained from it, but their deaths were necessary for his goal to be achieved. All that was meaningless if she fought for no purpose but to kill her victims and bathe in their demise, though. She didn't wanted the destruction of life - she wanted it's salvation. That's what her father always told her he longed for. Was it another one of his lies, perhaps?

"You look pensive, my love" She felt her lover's arms encircle her from behind before his concerned voice penetrated her ears. "What is it?" He twirled her around and looked her in the eyes when there was no answer from her part. She finally managed to look him in the eye. However she looked back at that moment in time, she'd always be certain that he knew - that his thoughts were twins of her own -, yet refused to admit it until it was already too late. "Did I do something wrong?" She shook her head and presented him with a reassuring smile. His eyes saw the device she had stomped on mere minutes before, and she felt a pang of guilt. "I thought you had liked it?"

"I do" She made sure to look him in the eye. "It's nothing you had done, Corvus."

"But then-" She put a finger to his lips before he could proceed.

"You are perfect, and I love you more than anything. Never doubt that, okay?" There was no lie in her words. Of that her conscience was clean, at least. She knew he never lied to her when he repeated the same words at her, too. It was bizarre how happy that single thought could make her. Her life wasn't meaningless, after all.

"Proxima..." His voice was hesitant. She knew he wanted to probe her for more information, just so he could erase her of her worries...sadly, those weren't worries he could ever erase. "I love you, too." And he seemed to understand that, too.


	17. Deeper Than Flesh, Scarier Than Bone

**First of all I wanted to apologize for the long delay between chapters and for the PMs I didn't answered. Last two months were kinda hard on me, both on a mental and a physical way. Everything is going better now, though, so you guys don't need to worry.**

 **I tried to write Down With The Fallen and Forsaken Howls in this period anyway, but the result wasn't what I wanted, and thus I decided to wait until I was better (now) to write again. In contrast to this bad news, though, I have a relatively good one: I'm working on a translation project (fanmade duuurh) for a game xD**

 **As for a second, I wanted to thank every single one of you people for supporting me in this project of mine. Thank you for your views, for your follows, for your favourites and thank you so damn much for your reviews. Your feedback is the only way I have to improve myself, and I thank you so much for it all S2**

 **By the way, we just hit the 5k views, almost 5.5k**

 **Yey!**

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own any of those characters, locations or places, be them mentioned or part of the story. They are all property of Marvel and their respective creators. I am, though, the creator of this specific plot, excluding the events that are also found in movies and/or comics.

 **General Trigger Warnings (TW):** Graphical Violence; Mentions of Sexual Abuse; Sexual Content; Profanity; Mentions of Child Abuse; Parental Neglect; Depression; Suicidal thoughts and/or actions; self-depreciation; Mental Illness; gore and mentions of drugs.

There are no **Specific Trigger Warnings** in this chapter.

 **~The relationship between Hela and Darcy starts to really develop itself from here.**

* * *

 **Arch 3: Howls of Yore  
** **Chapter 4 - Deeper Than Flesh, Scarier Than Bone**

" _This disease keeps holding me down"  
_ _~Chevelle - An Evening With El Diablo_

First thing she felt after crossing the doorway was a pair of arms around her frame. She felt ratter than saw the way her clothes drenched them whole, and readied herself to apologize - if for their wetness or their ruined state, she did not know -, yet, as her eyes stared at the top of the woman's head, her words got swallowed by the knots that formed in her throat.

"I thought you had left" Her words were damaged by the sadness of her voice. They trembled and shivered, and she wasn't sure how much of a struggle it could be for her to sound them in the first place. "That you had abandoned me like everyone else did."

She felt her own arms snake around Darcy's frail silhouette, and found all words to have disowned her at once. But was there anything to say, anyway? She knew the woman had a fragile mental state, yet she had not thought about it when she left the house to satisfy a greedy need of sovereignty over all.

"Sometimes I hurt people because it feels right to do so..." She answers through her own damaged voice. "And sometimes I hurt people I never meant to." Her eyes found a matching pair shining from beneath messy locks of hair. "You are one of the last, and I'm terribly sorry that my careless actions were the cause of your pain. You had offered me a drink and a roof when everything I offered was a dagger and a murder attempt. I still don't fully understand why you did what you did, nor why you cling to me after all of it, but I am glad that you did it all for me, and that you still do."

"I-"

"I'm sorry" She cut the woman before she could interfere more with her speech. It wasn't an act of disrespect, but of fear, for she knew the courage to speak her own mind would leave her if she did not stop her right then. It was her only chance to make things right, and she would be damned if she would let that one scape her, too. "I'm sorry that I hurt you, Darcy, and I hope you find it in yourself to forgive me and accept me back where I shouldn't have left from in the first place."

"But if you do" she forced herself not to stop and gave her best for her emotions to flood her stare. "We will need to talk. We won't be able to keep our game of pretence anymore nor will we be able to make it look like it is completely normal and that everything is okay. And I promise you that I will answer your questions if you answer my own. There are things you need to know about me - about what I just did and what I probably will do again -, and all I ask you is that you hear me out before you decide what you want to do."

"So..." She let her arms fall back to her side and took a step backwards towards the door frame. "Will you hear me out?"

"Yes" Was the teary answer she received, and she couldn't keep the awkward smile from her face. Many doubts filled her heart just then - she didn't knew what was to come or where she would happen to belong -, but of one thing she knew for sure: that answer would be the trigger for all the changes that were to come.

##

Quite a few minutes had passed since they had moved into the living room, and yet none of them seemed to find the right words to say. T'was pure fantasy to believe there were "right words to say" in the first place, of course, but such knowledge did nothing to appease their minds.

"So..." It was surprisingly Darcy who broke the uncomfortable silence. Not to say she was the most comfortable one, though. Even a blind eagle could spot her shivers from miles away. "W-" She let out a brief cough, presumably to clean the dryness off her throat. "Who exactly are you?" Her voice quivered here and there, but she found the strength to finish her question. "Besides your given name, of course."

"Not to insult your...mental capabilities, but am I to assume your mind won't shatter by the notion of life manifesting on other realms?" She did her best to keep all condescension from her tone. She didn't want to pass forward the wrong message. "The last thing I want is for you to get flabbergasted with such knowledge in the midst of our talk and therefore pay no attention to what's truly important."

"Well..." The girl rearranged herself on the couch and offered Hela a sideways glance. "I do have a major in sciences..." She moved a hand to caress her own neck then and quickly averted her gaze. "Political science, I mean. But I think I'm aware of what you're going to say next. Yeah."

"Oh?" She was intrigued. Not once had she forgot about the dreadful spawns, but she didn't believed them to be much popular figures among the Midgardians. Not anymore, at least. "I take it you researched quite a bit about my brothers, then?"

"Loki? Thor?" She forced herself to supply after receiving but a blank stare. The results were instantaneous as she hoped, yet much more loud than she thought they'd be: Darcy jumped off their couch and spun around to face her with a look so startled she almost felt bad for her.

"Thor and Loki are your **brothers!** " The noise alone was enough to make her wince, but she suspected the dawning realization that she had no family left played a part on it. "B-but...but you are supposed to be Loki's daughter!" The sheer horror that stabbed at her heart must have trespassed to her face, too, for the girl continued her rant. "The myths and the legends and pretty much every story we have about you guys say the exact same thing!"

She allowed herself a moment to breathe before she offered her a response. "And were they written before or after my brother's pathetic catfight?" There was no way she'd put it behind Loki to spread such kind of rumours, after all. Not after all she heard of him.

"Well..they were written before, yeah. But-"

"Odin tried to kill me" that put an abrupt halt to Darcy's excitement, yet made room for a look of disbelief. She couldn't help but taste the bile in her throat at the realization that she was the one to cause such a change in her mood, though. There was something just recomforting about her antics - something she couldn't really comprehend but also didn't wanted to. When would she stop playing puppeteer with her feelings? "No, that's not right. He tried to **erase** me."

"What?" Was the baffled answer she received. Was her father's 'kindness' part of said myths, too? "But...why?"

"I asked myself such a question for a long, long time. In the end it was long enough for me not to care for an answer anymore. I know the reasoning behind his last attempt, at least."

"Last attempt?" There it was again - the disbelief. "You mean he tried it more than once?"

"Oh, yes" she offered a bitter laugh but couldn't help but avert her eyes as she felt the girl's weight tumble down besides her on the couch. "They weren't all direct assaults, of course, but they were undoubtedly part of his 'master plan' - whatever it is."

"The first time I can remember was during my first real battle." She forced herself to continue. She would not risk being interrupted once more. "I had just won a new set of armor from my father, and was overjoyed by the sight of it. It was black like my hair, and yet it shone in a way it shouldn't had. My mother had stopped treating me as her own for a while back then, and thus I drowned myself in his attention and devoted all my time to make him proud. I didn't wanted him to go away, too."

"But then the armor was hit by a warrior's blade. It cut right through it's metal and drilled straight into my heart." She made sure to look the girl in the eye before she continued. "The pain was unbearable, and there was no doubt for me that I would not survive - that it would be the end. But I was about to find out that it would take a lot more than that to kill me, and so I just pulled out the blade and stood back on my own two feet."

"Did he...?"

"Did he do it on purpose? I thought not. He executed our best craftsman as soon as we arrived back to Asgard, saying that he was the one who forged him the armor - that he was a traitor to the throne. I watched as his head was cut off from his neck by my father's executioner. The man had a wife and a daughter, you see? They naturally screamed that he was innocent - that my father was lying. Their dying screams still haunt my nightmares to this day."

"I met my brothers as soon as I got back from Hel - the realm where my father had imprisoned me into, since he wasn't able to kill me, too -, and I don't exaggerate when I say our meeting was far from civilized. I was their queen, yet they refused to bow. We fought, yet they weren't nearly close enough to stop me. But then I arrived in Asgard and no one even knew me. Odin had made sure of that."

"And what...what happened to them?" She looked back at Darcy when she asked her that. When had she even averted her eyes to begin with? "To your brothers, I mean. Did you...kill them?"

"No" She shook her head. "I threw them out to space - which wasn't really my intention, by the way -, but they both arrived back just fine, so you don't need to worry about that detail. Speaking of it, why do you worry so much, anyway?"

"I-I don't-"

"Don't lie to me, Darcy" she pleaded. It was the first time she had ever talked about her feelings with anyone but Death, and even then she had been unable to control herself to begin with - It was harder to control one's feelings inside their own soul, it would seem. "I didn't lie to you just now, and I expect you to do the same."

"I..." The girl bowed her head down enough for her face to hid behind the shadows of her hair. She didn't meant to make her feel ashamed, but it wasn't something she would apologize for, too. "I met Thor when he was banished from Asgard." Her voice was distant and meek, as if the memories weren't as good as she might want some to believe. It could have been her shame outweighing her joy, though. "I was working with my friend Jane - the one who owns this house - and a guy named Erik Selvig, who's a known professor."

"I heard my brother was never the most intellectual being to be around, so I take it he was quite the problematic moron when you two met?" She didn't like her brothers at all, yet she did not hated them the same way she had hated Odin. There was resentment in her heart, of course, but she couldn't help but be intrigued by their past. It was all she'd ever have of them, after all.

"Oh, he was!" the girl offered her a laugh full of mirth, and for a second she thought their eyes would meet again. "But he got all 'buffed up' in the end, though he lacked common sense and all kinds of dating etiquette. He was stupid enough to leave my friend hanging here for years, then to come back during an alien invasion - that was Loki, by the way - and leave without even stopping to say goodbye. He came back later with some lame excuse, of course, but meh! I'm honestly surprised that they didn't broke up sooner, if you ask me. I mean, he could've at least given her the time of the day, don't you think so?"

"I..." The question caught her off guard. How could she give her a straight answer when she had never been into such a relationship? She doubted her parents were any role models, too. Maybe it was hereditary? It would surely make sense. "I wouldn't know...but I think you are right...I believe."

"Well..." Darcy's excitement dwindled down once more, but there were still sparks in the depths of her eyes, and she couldn't help the small relieved smile to tug her lips at the sight. "That is awkward."

"The thing I was talking about my father..." the brunette took hold of the conversation once again, only then realizing how out of focus they had become. "At first I believed the craftsman to be a traitor like he said, but one day I was helping the people at the Asgardian's library to move some files around - a task I believed would please my mother -, and I stumbled upon some of the criminal records. One of the top files happened to be the craftsman's list of crafts. The armor's name was there, "The Nightingale"...and it was handwritten by my father."

"No one else could know that, of course" She explained. "Frigga was the one who signed all the documents that needed to be signed, while my father told her what to put in or to cut off from them. I was the only one who had ever seen his handwriting besides her, and it was by pure accident, too. One day I saw a letter he had sent my mother from the battlefield - an old one -, and I had kept it with me for years."

"So" she swallowed down the bile on her throat. "To answer your question: yes, he did so on purpose. He forged a beautiful yet weak set of armor for me to wear, hoping that it would result on my dying breath, and he wouldn't had failed if it was not for a single, almost insignificant detail" Her eyes shone in a darker shade of green. "I am the Goddess of Death".

"Why are you telling me all this?" The question put a halt to her chaotic thoughts. She felt the familiar burning in the deep of her eyes, and thus knew they were not 'normal' anymore...then why didn't Darcy recoil at the sight?

"Because I have nothing left to lose." The words left her mouth with no warning, but what surprised her was the way she sounded half as hollow as she truly felt - It seemed that practice made perfection, after all. She did not forgot about Death, of course, but she wasn't someone she should rely on. She still had no idea what her angle was on everything, and she herself admitted 'not to be ready to reveal her innermost motivations'. Not to say she didn't trusted her. No, there was just something resting on the back of her mind - something that kept telling her Death would leave her, too.

"Besides" she continued as she noticed a different kind of burn in her eyes. "It's only fair that, if I am to stick around for a while, you know all the bad there is to know about me. I have no desire to be forced to leave after you discover something you don't like."

"I wouldn't force you to leave." The girl leaned forward, and for a second she thought that she'd reach for her face. "Look" she let out a breath and rearranged herself back on the couch. "I'm not a saint and I'm not gonna let you 'stick around' from the goodness of my heart or some other bullshit."

"I understand..." Hela nodded and got up to leave. The rejection stung her far more than she thought it possibly could. It spread the burning in her eyes to the very bottom of her core. And for a moment in there she had thought that she would be accepted for once - that the Darcy would prove herself to be different. Whenever would she learn?

She was just about to move away when the gentlest grip took hold of her wrist. Her eyes slid back around only to drown themselves on the sorrowful ones that stared back at them.

"Stay with me." Was her breathless plea. Her words formed knots inside Hela's throat, and they were made of a sadness that was not her own. That's why, when her knees started to bend and her body to press back against the couch, she had no fight left to feed.

##

A couple of hours had passed since their talk had ended, and Hela just couldn't help but feed the apprehension growing in her chest. She never had the chance to tell Darcy about her diet - she never let her -, and she knew exactly what reaction to expect from her when she finally did so. She would react the same way a couple of hours earlier, too.

Her mind swirled with ten thousand ways in which she could get hurt by what they both had started on that couch, but all she did was to let her ruined clothes fall down to the bathroom floor. There was nothing she could do to change what had happened, nor was there anything she would do to change it, too. Maybe she was right, after all - maybe the girl **was** different...

She let out a breath as she stepped beneath the running shower. Even thought she had just been taught how to operate it, it took her a little while to understand exactly how to do so. The hot water cascaded down her back as soon as she figured it out, and it washed her clean of the remains of blood that stained her scarred skin.

There was no way to be sure whom it belonged to, but she was not about to care. Her previous hours were marked by the taste of carnage and the power she received from it. If she had to guess, she'd say her behaviour back at the warehouse was akin to a warrior who got addicted to pain - she had craved it with all her being, yet waged wars against herself for the very same thing.

Her hands went up to spread soap across her naked breasts. Back in her first years as an Ásynja, she used to wear an armor that did not protect them as it should, and thus they got quite frequently dirtied by mud, blood and dust. As she looked at their darkened shape then, though, she noticed a lack of battle marks. What she partook in during the early hours was not a battle, after all. No. It was a massacre, and she took pride in never been harmed in one of those...or at least she thought so in the past.

She did not felt good at all about what had happened. She didn't felt anything at all. Those men weren't warriors, nor were they civilians. They were but disgusting vermin who had no right to exist in the first place. But she still couldn't accept who she had become. She wasn't angry at Death for making her like that, though. She wasn't even angry at herself. If anything, she was disappointed on what she allowed herself to do - of what she allowed herself to feel.

A water drop snaked down her neck and she closed her eyes to revel in it's warm touch. It felt almost like a caress as it sent pleasant shivers down her spine. The intricate way in which it's twins followed suit and cleansed the weight off of her made a small, yet true, smile tug at the corner of her lips, and only she knew how much she longed for the feeling of it.

Yet she knew it wouldn't last. She wasn't selfish enough to think it would, nor deranged enough to actually try and make it last. Anything she could ever build together with Darcy, any friendship, any bond, any good memory - they'd all be ripped off of her as soon as the girl found out the truth. She just couldn't bear to chose between savouring every moment of happiness she had left or running away so there would be nothing for her to miss.

Calling Frigga by her name had hurt but it was something she was prepared for since the first disdainful stare. Fighting Odin and ultimately losing to him was but another battle for her, and she knew he was the one to blame for that, too. Fighting off her brothers was something she didn't really wanted to do, but that was the only thing she could do to begin with, and thus she had accepted her fate as soon as the flaming sword descended towards her.

But losing Darcy was something she was not prepared for. She knew how it sounded - like she was in love with the girl -, and maybe it was true in a deranged sort of way, but that was not the real reason why she couldn't hope to prepare for it. No. Darcy was almost all she knew. There was no more kingdom to rule. No more brothers to fight or parents to get her revenge upon. There was only her and the all the hollow the universe had to offer.

No wonder she felt like she was still adrift.

Death was the only other person she knew would be a part of her future, and she still didn't knew if she could trust the woman. She had fallen for her charms, in a way, and was taken by her beauty and by her caress, yet she understood that she had never met her outside her own soul - she never had the chance.

Would she feel as safe with her outside the depths of her soul? Would she feel anything at all? Did she even wanted to feel?

A soft knock on the bathroom's door stole her attention off her thoughts, and she found herself looking for a towel, conscious of her naked body. Something like that hadn't happened to her in a long time - not even with Death. The damn girl had somewhat of a control over her, and she wasn't sure what to feel about it.

"Hela?" Was her soft question.

"Yes?" She hated the croaky sound that left her throat, yet forced herself not to cough.

"Are you okay? You've been in there for a while..."

"Oh" she was taken aback by the response. When she heard the knock she had thought the girl wanted to use the bathroom or something, not that she wanted to 'check her status'. "I didn't realize I was in her this long. I was just...lost in thought, I guess."

"Look, I'm sorry for earlier..." What was she talking about? "I didn't mean to say that last part the way I did - to make you feel like I was rejecting you or something...Fuck that sounded wrong...But still, I-"

"It's okay, Darcy" As much as she enjoyed hearing the woman squirm, the circumstances didn't let her savour it at all. Her heart was beating faster than it should, and the shower water was starting to feel unpleasant. How long had she been in there, anyway? "I understand."

"I-" The girl hesitated, and Hela heard a soft thump sound outside the door. Had she sat down on the floor? No. That couldn't be it. "I haven't been on the best state of mind recently, and honestly, I'm not even sure if letting you stay is a bad decision or not, but I really don't want you to go. As weird as it sounds, you're kind of my safe haven right now, you know? Somewhat of a-"

"A way out of a screwed up reality, I know" She completed for her. How could she not? She felt the same way. Yet the dark cloud that hovered over their heads was something she could not ignore. Maybe she should leave, after all. "But, when it really matters, we're just a window blocked by the strongest metal to each other: we can distract the other from reality, but we cannot take reality away."

"Woah..." She sounded impressed. "That was kinda cool, to be honest, but I know what you mean. It's just that I was never someone who could to things alone, you know? It's not like I'm dependant or a parasite, though. I just can't seem to do the right thing when I'm the only one making the decisions."

"I'm sure that's not true" She rested her back against the cold bathroom wall and used her arms to cover her breasts. "You don't seem like someone who made all the wrong choices. You just seem like a child."

There was a brief pause before a comfortable laugh invaded Hela's ears. It tickled her mind in an enjoyable way, and she couldn't help but give a second tiny smile. That was more than she had smiled in the past decades.

"What is it now?" She feigned irritation, as she stepped back beneath the shower to finish her bath.

"It's just so funny to imagine how much you Asgardians suck when it comes to people-to-people interaction." The girl answered between giggles. Was that supposed to be an insult? "I mean, between Thor, Loki and you, I'm quite surprised to realize Loki is the one with the best skills when it comes to that." So it **was** an insult, after all.

"Attacking my personal self won't change the reality of you being a child. I did not meant to insult you by comparing your decisions in life to one, though, so the insult you threw me was kinda unnecessary."

"Oh, it was not an insult, too. Just a curiosity, really. Plus he tried to enslave all humans with the same skills, so maybe it's a good thing that you guys are not the smartest when it comes to it."

"Whatever you might believe..." She closed her eyes and savoured the cascading water. It was starting to get cold, but not that much. "A child can always grow to be someone their old selves can respect. I envy you, Darcy Lewis, for that is something I can never have."

"That's not true, though." She heard some weird noises outside the door and quirked up a brow. "You're not a character in a video-game or a comic book, Hela. You're not really defined by your past or what people imposed on you. You're who you are, and that's what matter. And, as far as I see it, you can be whoever you want."

She gave no reply. She was not prepared to be confronted by that. She told herself she'd have a comeback or anything to tell her to prove that it wasn't true had she seen it coming - that the burning sensation in her eyes was just frustration, not hope. But, in the end, she knew which truth was the real one.

##

A scream made it's way out of his lungs, yet got itself drowned by the vomit that blocked his throat. His world spun around with no breaks to slow it down as he forced the contents off his throat. The mess of acid and whatever it was he had ate almost stained his clothes, and who the fuck was the asshole banging on his door, anyway!? He had barely just woken up, for fucks sake!

He tried to make his way to the door, yet failed just as his feet sidestepped the 'in-puddle' on the carpet: his legs gave in and he had to brace himself against a small cabinet not to tumble back down.

"Open the goddamn door!" Shouted a female from the other side of said door. The voice sounded slightly familiar, but his fury was far bigger than any memory he might've had of it. The nerve!

His arms pushed him off the cabinet and pure hatred drove him to the door. He was about to force it open when his dizziness attacked again and he had to brace himself against it. What the fuck had happened, anyway? The last thing he remembered was having his long sought-after black out scene, and then just...shit! But, then again, with the amount of time the author took to update the damn story, he wasn't sure if **she** remembered it herself!

"Oh, for the sake of the strap-on god, shut the fuck up!" He screamed at the door when the woman banged loudly at the spot he currently rested his head upon. "I'm having a major crisis in here, so why don't you just wait a fucking minute!"

It took him a while to regain control of his ragged breathing, and he had to use a paper sack from the table nearby just to make it. The 'door beating' had thankfully stopped by then, but the pain was just as worst.

He slowly slid the door open only to meet a pair of narrowed brown eyes. The damn woman wasn't keen on been berated for her ratter rude personality, it would seem.

"You!?" His voice denounced his stupidest forged surprise. He had no idea who the bloody woman were, and he found himself running out of patience to learn it in the first place. He had to admit she had quite a beautiful brown hair, though.

"I've been knocking on this goddamn door for twenty minutes!" She exploded past him and turned back around when he did not follow suit. Her arms swung around as she continued her speech. "And you dare go around screaming at me to 'wait a fucking mute'!?

"'Excuse me, what the fuck!?." He blinked rapidly at her. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm the woman who's paying your fucking ass to find her friend while you lay around and-" She halted all her movements at once and made a disgusted face as she looked down to where her right shoe stood. "Tell me this isn't what I think it is."

"I can't read people's mind - I'm not Jedi." She gave him a look that made him gulp down whatever wittier response he could make up in the next five seconds or so. "Easy there, hooligan, it's vomit. Sorry that I can't keep my insides in check when facing extraordinary pain."

"Eeew" She stepped back and tried to shake it off her feet to no success. He almost felt sorry for the poor bastard - almost.

"So?" He pushed his back against the room's inner wall. No use falling down in front of a stranger. Who knew what she could do to him if he were to black out again? As far as he knew it, she could be a perverted maniac or something even worse. "Do you want me to close the goddamn door, too?"

"Fuck off, 'Deadpool'." She mocked his name as she resigned to her fate and face him square in the eye. "And for the record, I know you just stole these two lines from somewhere."

"Whatever" He scoffed at her, but closed the door nonetheless. Maybe it would prove a good point to the bitch. "Who you said you were, again?"

"I'm Jane Foster" She crossed both her arms. Was he supposed to know her from somewhere? Maybe she was famous or something? Nah, it couldn't be. "And I think I made the biggest mistake in the world by hiring it's dumbest idiot to track down my friend."

"Well...shit"


	18. Homecoming

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Marvel or any other trademarks' belongings that may or may not appear here. The only things I own are my original plot and my original settings. Also, I don't make any profit from this work of fiction.**

 **AN: I really don't have an actual "excuse" for this long-assed absence of mine. Well, I do have a few, but most of them are well-known already, so I don't really find a need to repeat them here.**

 **In a brief way, though, I had some problems with my health some months ago (nothing grave, I suffer from depression...which is grave, but you know what I mean) after playing a game called Haunting Ground - which I wrote a fanfiction about, by the way. After that I had my brain stormed by ideas of new storylines and "what ifs", and well, you all know how many of those popped up on my profile.**

 **Regardless of my absence, though, this story is NOT abandoned, and we are already moving to its final arc. I do believe I will rewrite this whole work at a later date, too, when I'm finished with my other projects, but it will certainly take a lot of time until it happens.**

 **Now, before we move on to the actual chapter you're all waiting for, I wanted to thank you all for the tremendous support you've been giving me through all of this, from PMs and Reviews all the way to a mere Viewing of one of my fics. You're all amazing and thank you very much for sticking up with me through all this bullshit!**

 **PS: I'll probably update the rest of this arc soon, but, on the meantime, I encourage you to check out my other fanfictions, too. All of them evolve around romance, with Shard of Hope being a lesbian one, also.**

 **PPS: I found a new way to separate scenes - one more pleasing to the eyes - during my evolution as an author. I hope you'll like this one better than the previous.**

 **Also, if you're wondering:  
**

 **o - o - o - o - o** **= Means a new scene is coming from another Character's point of view;**

 **o - o - o - o - o = Means that a new scene is coming from the same Character's point of view;**

* * *

 **Arc III: Yells of Yore  
** **Chapter V: Homecoming**

"Damn it!" She cursed as she got up from the sofa, the wooden table shaking in front of her. A pair of eyes pore into the back of her neck when the small laptop danced dangerously close to its edges. "It must be the twentieth 'Jane Foster' I try to contact!"

"Are we seriously ignoring the fact you almost broke one of said woman's possessions?" Even though it was clearly an amused joke, Hela's voice carried the same degree of frustration than its predecessor, though hers was for an entirely different matter.

"'Almost' being the key here" Was Darcy's feeble retort as her eyes dropped to the twin device sitting comfortably on the goddess' thighs. She irked an eyebrow at the comically slow way in which she tipped something on the keyboard. "I sure hope you're not planning on writing a book."

She received a glare in response, but she saw the subtle softening of the woman's lips. It was a gigantic improvement since they had first met - for her to notice such a thing -, but she couldn't deny that it was only natural, after everything they had gone through.

"I fail to see the point in making one of those 'social networks' if anyone can have your name and your face as if they were their own. Kinda flaws the whole 'easier to contact people' purpose of it."

"To be fair, people are not supposed to do that...but they do so anyway, which sucks." She let out a sigh then and allowed herself back down besides the woman on the couch. One of her hands shot up and closed the lid of her own device. She had had enough.

"Let's just...take a break, okay?" She offered, looking at the brunette from the corner of her own eyes. Her whole body felt self-conscious when she was near her, yet not in the ways one would expect. It was a fear she couldn't help but entertain. A really, really, dangerous fear.

"I believe 'to give up' is a better verb for you to use there, dear." Hela imitated her actions and delicately placed 'her' laptop on top of the table.

"What?" She continued, when Darcy refused to offer her an answer. Her eyes travelled sideways to meet the girl's stare, and her own head tilted at the sight. "What is it? Is there something on my face?"

"Oh..." The girl stammered, her heartbeat loud in her ears and her eyes blinking away their fog as red took hold of her face. "Oh! No, no, of course not! There is just...something...on my mind, really." She averted her gaze with a brief yet tremendously nervous laugh.

"There is no need to worry, Darcy." The goddess' eyes softened at her own words, but they refused to leave the girl's face. "I'm sure your friend is okay...wherever she is."

"Is it-" She tried to continue after a full minute of awkward silence, but a cough escaped her mouth. "Is it this hard to find other Midgardians with those devices your friend left behind?"

"Not really, no..." Darcy's voice was low and frail, and she had to force all the embarrassment down her throat before more words could leave its entrails. "Jane grew...famous over the past year. Well, maybe 'famous' is not the right word, but she is quite known in her area and so all those fake profiles popped up. It doesn't happen to us, 'normal mortals', really."

"Oh, I'm sorry." She managed to eye the brunette at the unneeded apology. "I didn't really mean it like that. I just meant...I'm-"

"Hey, I know what you wanted to say, don't worry. I just meant that only 'famous' people like her have this problem. Someone like me, for example, won't ever have to deal with it."

"Someone like you?" Hela's genuine question made her gulp and avert her gaze a second time.

"Someone unimportant."

"I disagree."

"What?" Was her dumb answer, her eyes embedded on their corners against her will. Fucking things almost seemed to have a mind of their own! Was that how a guy felt with his-

"So, does this means that I should create one of those 'profiles' with your name and with your face?"

"W-"

"For you are undoubtedly important to me." Her words held the same sincerity of her gaze, and a blazing blush erupted from Darcy's core. Her heartbeat was so loud that she feared the woman could hear...but maybe she could do that all the time, anyway.

Very dangerous, indeed.

 **o - o - o - o - o**

"'The shit!?'" Her shriek violated his ears, and a wince took hold of the entirety of his face. "Is that seriously all you have to say? Are you kidding me!?"

"Look, non-skilled Black Widow, I'm kind of having an existential crisis right here, okay?" He seethed out, refusing to meet her eyes from his position on the bed.

"So can you shut up for at least five fucking minutes!" He screamed his rage at her, his eyes finally focusing on her face only to see her taking a step back. Fuck. That wasn't part of his plans. He hadn't meant to make her afraid of him...but when was the last time anything went along with his plans, anyway?

A deep, suffering sigh escaped his lungs then, and he took a moment to rearrange himself. His head found a resting place against the palms of his hands just as something felt the wrong kind of intrusive against his ass, and a tornado hit the pit of his stomach when its lone beeping sound penetrated his ears.

"I...I'm-" He coughed and **holy shit, there was blood in it**! Just what the **fuck** was wrong with him!? He shook his head, but managed to produce the next words out his throat. "It's just not a good moment, okay? I didn't mean to..."

Didn't mean to shout at her? Lie. Didn't mean to be mad at her? Lie. Didn't mean to make her feel bad? Lie. Didn't mean to scare her? Probably a lie, too. So what the hell he didn't meant to do, and how the fuck would he even know!?

"Whatever..." He breathed out in disregard of his own excuses, and finally allowed his eyes to take in her glare. Well...maybe 'pissed the hell off' was a synonym for 'scaring'...somewhere.

"I don't really give a fuck if you're dying right now - which you can't, by the way, I know - but I need to find my friend. Now. And if you're not going to help me, then you can just go and f-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" He put his clean hand up in surrender. "Easy there, tiger! I might not die, but I sure as hell feel pain. And I never said anything about not helping you, did I? Plus what would your parents say if they ever heard your disrespecting **language** , huh?"

Jane crossed her arms and gave him her best glare. It wasn't the worst he had ever seen, of course, but the way her eyebrow irked up and her teeth almost showed itself was one step too close to 'more pain for little old Wade' for his safety...

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I used the same language, but that is no excuse. Nu-uh." But he wouldn't be himself if he didn't take the risk, now, would he? "Anyway, I know where your friend is...hopefully...I think...well, its more than a zero out of ten change, so she certainly is there. One hundred per cent sure."

"How?"

"Really? That's all you have to say? A single word? Do you know how much thought I put into that quote?"

"Answer me or you can kiss your money bye bye and meet your problems head on."

"Pretty much Zero, but still..." He mumbled to himself as he got up from the bed, all the while whipping his hand against his clothes. His other hand, though, took the small device off his bed with a trembling grip.

"This thing here, will almost certainly take us to your friend." He showed up the tracker, guilty plaguing his mind. "Not my most honourable feat, I must admit...but I guess it's for the greater good."

"Alright..." She strode forward and made to grab it off his hands, but he jumped back onto the bed and out of her reach before she could do so. "I swear to all Gods I'm getting tired of your games!"

"Okay, I deserved that." He bobbed his head up and down in acceptance. "But this is not a 'game' or whatever you might think. I need to know why you want to find her first, and you gotta convince me, darling, or-" He pointed a finger to his own crotch. "This little darling is going right in there with mister Twinsack."

"Are you fucking **serious** right now?" Her eyes narrowed, but it was her time to let out a sigh when he did not relent. **That** was something he would never relent. It might be all he had left, and he would be damn sure she would never have the thing if her answer wasn't satisfying.

"I'm not sure if I told you before, but Darcy is my friend." He made an oval shape with his mouth for a second. He knew that already. "She was staying at a house in a forest - the place I told you to go and search for her, remember?"

"Well..." she continued after his confirming nod. "I'm sure you saw what happened there, and-"

"W-wait a second right there!" He interrupted her, middle finger pointed at her in outrage. "What the hell was that, anyway? The damn woods were **destroyed**! It looked like some Minecraft bullshit!"

"I don't know...actually, **no one** knows for sure." She crossed her arms and averted her gaze. Sore spot much? "Everyone at the lab saw this...weird calamity just sprout out of nowhere. It reminded me so much of the past that I got worried about her well being when I heard it was on the are...but then I found out it had hit her house full-on. Can you understand how that felt?"

"Ha!" She scoffed with a bitter laugh. "I bet you can't..."

"As a matter of fact, I do, but what I really want to know is what the hell do you mean by 'the past'."

"Are you stupid or something?" She irked her eyebrow at him again.

"Hey! You stop looking at me like that is common knowledge this instant, or Mister Twinscak will have a feast with this babe here!" He shook the tracker in his hands.

"You...really don't know?" It was his time to look at her in exasperation. "If you don't mind me asking...where the hell have you been living at those whole years? Under a rock?"

"Well, you must know that, since you're the one who found me in the first place." He retorted, and she gave him a couple small nods in response. "And, while we're at it, mind explaining me who the fuck are **they**? Because I sure as hell am not running from anyone but people who aren't really trying to find me."

"Is this a joke?" Her glare grew colder. "Or did you lose your memory or something?"

"I'm going with option three: you're completely lunatic and you found my number by chance."

They stared at each other for no more than five seconds before he sat down on the bed, tracker firmly in his grip, and Jane rested her back against one of the walls.

"I found informations about you on the internet." She allowed, her eyes locked on a generic painting hanged on the opposite wall. "They said you were a mercenary, but were not really that specific. No parents, no relatives and somehow not criminal record, even though your real name was there for everyone to see."

"Wait, no parents?" He scrunched his face at her nod. "But I'm pretty sure everyone should know who they are by now. And 'no criminal record'? What do you mean? I've been to Ice Box, you know?"

"The mutant prison?" She tilted her head at his words and twisted her expression to one of mock understanding. "Oh, come on, you're making that face again. Stop it."

"I don't know of any 'mutant prisons', or of any 'mutant' whatsoever, so-"

"And you say **I** am living under a rock!?" He got off the bed with a dramatic jump, his arms wide open and the device forgotten over the sheets. "Mutants are every the fucking where! Hell, the damn X-Men - which I was a part of for a little while - are on the news almost twenty-four seven!"

"I honestly have zero idea of what you are talking about...And I'm sure that, if there were any 'mutants' around, I would know at least **something** about them, giving my area of expertise."

"But..." She continued just as he opened his mouth in protest. "I heard of some new cellular discovery made by the Life-Stark alliance...so maybe it has something to do with your 'mutants'."

"Well, I would've been inclined to believe that, if mutants hadn't been around for more than a hundred years, yes." He mumbled to himself on his way to another of the windows. "But things have been...weird lately, so let's say I believe you...for now."

"Look..." Jane's voice was somewhat softer then, the annoyance and the rage gone somewhere in the middle of their talk. "If you take me to my friend, then I promise to take you to Stark - yes, I can arrange that - so you can speak with him about this whole 'mutant' stuff. I'm sure he'll know more than I do."

"...Alright." He nodded once with a sigh. Understanding whether his decision was born out of his own selfish desire or out of her answer being a pleasant one to his question was a hard matter for him then. One he would need time to think about. "Deal."

"First tell me something, though." His eyes found hers at the insecurity that laced her question. "Did you find...someone else there with her?"

"Oh, yeah! I totally forgot!" He immediately went back to the back, grabbed the tracker and approached it to her face, exhibiting its blinking red dot. "You see this dot here?"

"Quite hard not to, from this distance..." She seethed, using a hand to push the thing off her face.

"When I get there I found your friend down on the ground, in the middle of the forest."

Jane's eyes widened and she prepared to shout a question, but his words beat her worry:

"There was another female there with her - they were both just passed out, by the way. Trouble was, I didn't really knew **which** one of them was your friend-"

"I sent you a picture of her!"

"Well...lets say my phone had a good meeting with the floor outside the window right after our talk." She breathed out a curse, her hands tugging at her hair as if to pull it all off. "Anyway, the point is, I took the both out there and into a hotel room. But that is not the point here, really."

She irked up a brow. Again.

"They escaped me after waking up. I guess they thought I was a kidnapper or something. But I found that woman again later, the brunette one, and I managed to put a tracker on her, since I believed she could take me to see the other girl, too...but then I passed out here."

"Why do I feel like there's something you're not telling me?"

"Well, why do I feel like there's something **YOU** are not telling me?"

Their second staring contest was broke by Jane, who averted her gaze back to the painting.

"The thing about our past...was a man named Thor. He appeared from a different realm - a different world - one day, and it was in a calamity close to the one that just made my friend's house turn into dust."

"Wait a second, how do you know her house turned into dust!?"

"So I believe this woman you found with her might be one like him." She finished, completely ignoring his question. "I don't believe you know if she is an Asgardian?"

He had a fat "no" ready for the go at the tip of his thong, but the word gave him pause. It was sheer luck that kept her from noticing his slip, but luck alone couldn't help him in his indecision forever.

"I'm sorry." He tapped a button in his device as he moved off to search for his spare mask - _when your body is filled with bullet holes on a daily basis, you'll have a spare mask, too_. "But I can't tell you that."

"Why not?" She asked, frustration in her tongue.

"It is not really my place to tell." He reappeared from one of the adjacent rooms with a new mask in place. "So you can just ask her when you meet her."

"But first, I have two more questions for you." He continued without skipping a beat. "Two really, really important questions."

"What is it this time?" She let out a sigh as she twisted her body to face the exit door.

"First: You saw my unmasked face. Not even a flinch. Why?"

"I saw it online before." Was her short answer, her hand already on the handle.

"My face was there, too!? Stalker much!?"

"Okay, okay..." He relented when she offered him no answer. "Like I asked you before: who the fuck are **they**?"

"Oh, that?" She looked behind her shoulders as her hands pushed the door open in front of her. "Just a bluff, really. You'll be surprised how many people agree with you when you use that word."

 **o - o - o - o - o**

"Remind me again why it's a good idea to buy something when there is a kitchen full of food supplies right here?" She stared at the girl with mockery written all over her features, and waited for her to finish putting on the boots to continue. "And please, refrain from answering with 'because you can't do it yourself' a second time."

"It is true, though." She scoffed at Darcy 's glare, yet offered a hand to help her up to her feet. Their eyes fell into each other's stare, their faces but inches from touching.

"I-I..." Darcy's words morphed into a cough as she prepared herself to take a step away from the goddess, only to have her body pulled forward by said brunette.

"W-wha!" She tried to protest, but Hela's movements were as fas as they were graceful as she shielded her from the front door, eyes narrowed at its trembling knob.

A new kind of delicious scent violated the woman's nose at their closeness, and she would be lying if she ever denied enjoying the supporting touch of the Darcy's hand on her shoulder...but still she forced her eyes to meet hers.

"Hide." She commanded her with a whisper, her own stomach clenching at the inquisitive look she got in return. Was it too hard to ask for the girl to follow an order without extensive questioning? "Please."

She saw the slow, tentative way in which the other's eyes shifted from hers to the door and back again, and her heart throbbed in ways she could not comprehend as warmth left said stare.

"Alright." Was Darcy's breathless reply, only then letting go of her grip. "I'm going to hide...but...are you going to be okay?"

'Maybe' would have been the only honest answer she could give, and, therefore, the only would she should entertain...so why did her mouth refuse to speak it out loud? Why did her tongue betray her for its own agenda when she needed it the most?

"Yes." She assured with a nod, and it was clear that neither of them believed it in the first place. Neither had time to contemplate on it further, though, for a loud crack echoed off the door. "Go."

The weird, almost disgusting tingling from before had its rebirth deep inside her eyes as the girl disappeared from her view. It left a bitter taste in her mouth, as always, and a spark of hatred forced its way into her chest.

The door gave its final protest, its worn out body creeping forward with an ungraceful squeal. Two shadows projected themselves into the hallway's insides, their forms shifting and twisting with the lights as a pair of voices argued just beyond her sight.

She willed twin blades off the palms of her hands. Whoever those people were, they were definitively not the best when it came to invading someone else's home. But, if what happened back at Asgard had taught her anything, it was not to underestimate someone by their...idiotic...skills.

"Well, if you had one on you, then why didn't you give it to me sooner!?" Said the male voice, and her eyes widened a fraction. It was a dirty and low blow to her heart, and it made the sinister sickness drip off her face in waves.

She reversed the grip on both her blades just as his masked face sneaked past the doorway. He took a step back when their stares met, his hands shooting up in a begging gesture she was overly familiar with.

"Wait!" He shouted a new chapter to his pleas, but she did not hear. She **chose** not to hear. No mercy should ever befall a traitor, least of all one that could put her only... **friend** \- the word felt weird, even inside her mind - in danger.

"This isn't what it l-" His words were ripped off his tongue as one of her blades carved its way into his mouth. Blood spurted from the wound and his legs took him to random directions as his hands tried to pull the weapon off his skull.

A loud shriek found its way into her ears and distracted her from the pitiful sight, her blackened orbs darting around in search of its source to land on an unknown female figure standing on the door frame. Red stained her hands-covered face, but it was clearly not her own.

As she aimed her last blade forward, her lungs on fire and her face devoured by her own venom, a third voice dug into her ears, and a pair of frantic arms took hold of her own.

"Stop!" Was Darcy's own desperate plea. Did she really expected her to sit down and watch as she was found? As she was **taken**!? No. She wouldn't have that. As long as she could fight, none woul-

"It's Jane!" It wasn't really the impact behind those two words that shattered the blade in her hands to pieces, nor was it responsible for the erasing of her sickness. No. It was all due to the heartbreak that flooded her eyes. "Hela, it's Jane! It's my friend!"

"I-" She let out a startled sob, her hands limp at her sides as her back hit one of the hallway's barricades. A random picture fell from the wall and made its way to the ground, narrowly missing her head in the process.

"I-" She tried again, their stares frozen as ice, yet no words allowed themselves into her tongue, no doubt their own way of protesting against her rash decisions.

Her eyes found the picture on the floor, but immediately shifted from its frame to the green carpet below. Another second and the last of her soul would leave her at its display.

There was no turning back for them, and the worse part of it all was that she had actually believed that...whatever it was that they had together would last. She had allowed herself to believe in her own self again, and she had fucked everything up again.

No matter how much she wished it wasn't true. No matter how much she hoped she didn't suffer from such a bad case of hatred or how much she wished she had never earned her powers, the powerful slap against her face told her everything she needed to know:

 **It was the end**.


End file.
